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kscribbs · 7 months

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Miller's Law Snippets

Snip 1 💤

And so she stayed like that. One arm curled around his torso, face nestled into the narrow space between his shoulder blades. — A protective barrier, shielding him from the darkness of his own mind.

Whenever she sensed that he might be submitting to it again she’d move their conjoined hands to his chest/heart, trying to imbue as much warmth and comfort and… well, love, as possible. Willing his heart-rate to return to a normal rhythm. And she'd speak to him. Using the same soft, consoling timbre she reserved for anxious patients. It seemed to work, for he’d soon grow still again, drifting back into what she hoped were pleasant, happy dreams. Dreams of things and people and places he loved. The rose garden at Frost Manor. His favourite memories with Jacqueline and the Twins. Endless games of Elemental Ball…

He was fully-thawed now, but his fingers remained icy, frost creeping from his palms, across the counterpane, and after awhile Lucy’s own fingers began to ache and burn. But still, she didn’t let go. She stayed there for hours. Hours upon hours, watching dawn crack over the horizon like a robin's egg, spilling its golden light across the Canton de Bern. Watching the sky shift from pale blue to silver-grey and snow begin to drift down in large, fluffy flakes. Watching morning bleed into afternoon, and afternoon into evening, and night settle into all the room’s nooks and recesses like the ink in the creases of her palms.

Still, she didn’t let go.

Eventually the clouds cleared, and the sky stretched before her as a great, glittering vault. The silver river of the Milky Way was so much more vivid out here. She never saw this many stars in New York.

And Jack stayed sleeping, snoring softly, stirring minimally, his hand tightening in hers, every so often, the odd murmur drifting from his lips. Sometimes they were unintelligible. Other times she could make out certain words. Names, more oft than not. His mother’s. Jacqueline’s. Even her own, on one occasion.

She was overexerting herself, she knew. Using her powers to excess. He was going to be cross with her, when he did wake. Chide her, lecture her. But she hardly cared. She would make sure he got the rest he’d been so sorely deprived of if it killed her.

How long had he been suffering like this? she asked herself, again and again. He’d said they came in cycles, but how long had they been this severe? And how bad of a doctor — a friend, moreover — was she, for not having uncovered the truth sooner?

After a full twenty-four hours she was forced to get up to use the washroom, as well as grab something to eat and drink, all of which she did as swiftly as possible, before returning to his side (his other side now, seeing as he was one of those people who tended to gravitate, catlike, towards the centre of the bed) with her laptop in tow. He had begun to look a little strained in her absence, so she carded her fingers through his hair, pressed a kiss to the groove between his brows. And that seemed to do the trick.

She put on Season One of Gilmore Girls, keeping the volume low, and settled in for another long shift.

The room was well-lit and warm now, a fire crackling merrily in the hearth, and Lucy couldn’t help muse that, amidst all the grief and the horror — the gaping, cavernous knowledge of her own infirmity -- she felt… oddly at peace. Like they were living in a kind of vacuum, away from the rest of the world. A perfect, snow-capped bell jar.

It helped, she supposed, that Gstaad had a real fairytale feel to it. Like something out of a Hans Christian Andersen story.

Finally, around fifty-three hours after he’d first fallen asleep, and while she was almost-but-not-quite drifting off to Monty Python and The Holy Grail (a favourite of his), she felt a groggy chuckle reverberate against her left side, and glanced up to find him grinning at the screen. His hair was a complete mess, thanks to her ministrations; making him look a bit like a lion coming into its mane.

‘I love the Pythons,’ he said, huskily.

‘I know.’

‘Most people don’t know why they named it “Monty Python”. It was because they thought it sounded like a really bad theatrical agent. Did you know that?’

‘I didn't,' Lucy said fondly, angling the laptop more towards him. ‘Good Fact. I'll remember it for next time I see dad.'

He sat up a bit, rubbing his eyes with the hand that wasn’t connected to hers. A little colour rose in his face, when he took notice of the fact, but he didn't let go. Quite the contrary, actually -- he gave it a gentle squeeze, running his thumb over her knuckles.

‘Mmgh. Jeez. My joints are killing me. How long was I out for? Couple hours?’

'Uh... little more than that, actually.'

'How much more?' His fingers trailed over his chin, which was noticeably stubbled. He frowned. 'Wait a minute...'

Snip 2 📱

‘Christ, I know. She’d be beside herself. But there’s very little we can do right now to—’ Melusine was cut off by the sound of a phone ringing. ‘…Do you hear— ? …Who’s is that?’

Lucy’s, it transpired; recognisable by its bright pink, flowery case. It lay abandoned on the kitchen table, half buried beneath a tea towel. The contact flashing on the screen made Jack’s skin crawl with dislike.

“Matt (Weird Sevens Guy)”.

‘Oh, he can bugger right off! The rotter,’ Melusine growled, tossing her empty bowl into the sink as if it had just declared itself a close associate of said "rotter"(...?). ‘That’s the LAST thing Luce needs right now. I can’t bleedin’ stand that man, Jack. Always sniffing around her, like a hyena.'

'Yeah, what's up with that? It's like, uh, hello? Get a hobby, maybe? ...Preferably one that involves heavy machinery and very lax safety regulations.'

'Too right. He's trouble, I swear. You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to answer, blow a raspberry down the phone and then hang up.’

‘W-- now, Melusine,’ Jack chided, yanking her back by the hem of her blouse.

‘What? That’s funny!’

‘Funny, sure. But somehow I don’t think Lucy’d thank you for it.’

‘So? She’s not here to nag me about it, is she? And what’s more, she’s not the boss of me. Or you, I hasten to add. …Actually, scratch that.’ She smirked at him. ‘We both know that’s not true. You’d stand in the path of an oncoming train, if she asked you to. Oh wait—’

‘Yeah, yeah—’

‘--You did do that! What a lark.’

‘Hmno. No, no. SHE did that. Charged full tilt towards it, in fact. I just happened to be clinging to the back of her broomstick, at the time.’ Jack shook his head ruefully. ‘It was—’

‘Attractive?’

‘—terrifying.’

‘Terrifyingly attractive. Tell me I’m wrong.’

‘…The woman has a screw loose, is-is what I’m saying.' He cleared his throat. 'Stark raving bonkers, as you Brits would say. And here I’d been under the impression that she was the better adjusted, of the three of us.’

‘Oh come now, you always knew she had a reckless streak.’

‘A reckless streak, yeah. Mm-hm. Totally. The key word there being "streak". What I didn’t know was that she was the second coming of Knievel. Sectionable, by all accoun… what’re you doing…?’

Melusine now had Lucy’s phone in hand, and Jack was concerned to see her typing up what looked like a—

‘Virtual curse,’ she explained, casually. ‘Nothing too serious, of course. Won’t do him any real harm. Just turn a very specific part of his anatomy into an eel. Eheh. See what me makes of th— oi! Give it back!’

‘Are you serious right now?’

‘Look, I know you’ve developed a “conscience”, or whatever, since your thaw,’ she huffed, standing on her tiptoes to try to snatch the phone from his grasp (a difficult feat, given their difference in height). ‘And that’s lovely — bravo. Very happy for you. I, on the other hand, misplaced mine centuries ago and have yet to rediscover it. I suspect it’s buried at the bottom of a sock drawer somewhere, though I really can’t be arsed to look… I’ve therefore ze-ro scruples about giving our mutual nemesis the ol’ what-for.’

‘This has absolutely nothing to do with “conscience or whotever"; I couldn't give less of a shit about what happens to that guy. In fact it would give me no greater pleasure to watch him have to waddle his way to the DMI ward. I'd just rather not end up in Lucy's bad books, as a result. Things are going really well between us right now, if you hadn't noticed? And I'd prefer to keep it that w-- ...don't look at me like that.’

‘Oh, but it’s just so sweet.' Melusine simpered, clasping her hands together kittenishly. 'The Great and Powerful Jack Frost, all… twitterpatery. Never thought I’d see the day!’

‘I’m not— i-it’s not because I—' She raised a sculpted brow at him. 'Look, shut up, okay?! I just can’t afford to lose any more strikes! I only have the one left! And I really don’t wanna find out what happens when I reach naught.’

‘She’ll probably just make you do lines or something. I wouldn’t worry.’

‘Or, she might jinx me! Put me in a full body bind.’

‘Don't act like you wouldn't enjoy it.’ Melusine sent him an arch look, making him flush. ‘But fine. If you're that much of a jessie, I'll take the brunt of any potential Miller ire.’

‘Pfft. As if I’m going to trust that.’

‘It’s the truth!’

‘You’ll have to forgive me for being the slightest bit dubious, given… you know. Every single one of our interactions over the last two centuries.’

At her mulish look Jack sighed, realising that he was fighting a losing battle. Though he truly didn’t want to buy himself a one-way ticket to the dog house, he couldn’t deny that seeing what’shisname (Mason? Murray? ...Sketchy, overly-solicitous guy who didn't come anywhere close to deserving the object of his "affection"?) receive a good cursing was an attractive prospect.

A very attractive prospect.

Hm.

‘Y'know what...? Fine,’ he relented. ‘Whatever. You reap what you sow, Melville. Do as you please, just leave me out of it.’

‘What I’m sowing is chaos, and I have my fingers crossed for a bountiful harvest.’

‘…In that case, an electric eel would be far funnier. Just a thought.’

‘My, my!’ Melusine's brows did the milage to her hairline. ‘Two good ideas in under twenty-four hours. That must be some kind of record! Remind me to mark the occasion in the official "Jack Had an Idea" Excel spreadsheet.’

Jack was just about to respond with his own (far more cutting) witticism when a sleepy voice from the doorway said, ‘Why do you guys look like you’re scheming?’

The two of them jumped, turning to find Lucy standing over the threshold, looking charmingly dishevelled.

While Jack smiled dotingly, all other thoughts fleeing his mind at the sight of her, Melusine, startled by her appearance, grabbed the phone from his hand and lobbed it at the window, which shattered.

There was a moment of confused silence.

‘…Bollocks. Could’ve sworn that was open.’

Snip 3 ⏳

‘What’s the matter?’

And there it was, Lucy thought. The Look. The one that always made her feel like he could see under her skin. The familiarity of it, after all these years, was like a blow to the jugular.

‘N-Nothing, I--’ She drew in a shuddering breath. ‘I’m just... having a bit of a hard day, s’all.’

‘Why?’

‘…I… miss my friend. ...A lot. I haven’t seen him in a long time, you see. A very long time.’

‘Where is he?’ The boy cocked his head curiously, resembling a bird listening for earthworms. ‘Did he die?’

Kids. So forthright.

‘No. No, honey, he didn’t die.’

‘Then why can’t you see him?’

Lucy’s lips twitched.

Hiking up her skirts, she knelt down to his level, studying his narrow face. The same face she mapped out in her mind each night, before she went to sleep, so that she wouldn’t forget. Every line, every furrow. Every repressed spasm or overexertion of emotion.

Piece by piece, the memories settled around her. Like snowfall. -- A worried grimace as he sat at her bedside, holding her hand through what, at the time, had been her worst surge to date. A sleepy grin, as he watched Monty Python over her shoulder, while the world outside faded to white. Deep concentration pulling his features taught as he tinkered at his Steinway. The panicked, pleading look he'd sent her when she left him slaving over a hot stove with her mom and Nana, while she, Charlie and her dad retired to the basement to "assemble furniture" (drink beer and watch the Bears game). Countless looks of gentle reprove, mixed with grudging amusement, whenever she teased him about his eccentricities. The brief flashes of pride and adoration she'd grown increasingly better at catching, in the months preceding her "Jump".

The mingled shock and delight, that afternoon at the cottage, as the heady scent of magnolia drifted in through the window and the rain thundered on the roof. Arguably her favourite memory of him.

...The abject terror, as he lay writhing in pain--

No.

No, that one she would not think of. That one she made a concerted effort to bury, stifle. Locking it away, in the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind.

This face, though… this face was smooth and bright, filled with earnestness of childhood. The lofty bone structure, the crooked nose, the dimpled cheeks. The blue, blue eyes. It was all him. And at the same time, it wasn’t. Not quite. Not yet.

To look into his eyes after all this time and not have him recognise her, even a little bit...? Hurt more than Lucy would've ever thought possible.

‘It’s… it’s complicated, kiddo,’ she said, eventually. ‘Grown-up stuff, y’know?’

‘Well.’ He drew himself up to his full height, puffing out his chest importantly. ‘I don’t wanna brag or nothin’, but I happen to be very mature.’

‘Oh, is that so?’

‘Yep! My teacher said so. Said that I’m the most prec-- prero--'

'Precocious?'

'Reprocious boy in my class. And that's why I find it hard to make friends.'

'You do?' Lucy put a hand over her heart. 'Oh dear.'

His ears turned a little pink, as if he'd disclosed more than he'd intended to.

'N-Not that I care! Why should I? They're all dunderheads anyway. And I'm special. I'm gonna do Big Things when I leave school!'

‘Really now? Golly.'

‘Mm-hm! And then they'll ALL wanna be my friend. But by that point it'll be too late, 'cause I'll be rich and famous and everyone will know how great I am.'

It made so much sense, in hindsight. So much sense. All he'd ever wanted was to be accepted. Understood. Lauded for his intelligence, his studiousness, his unparalleled talents. To make the people he looked up to proud. He'd just gone about it in a totally roundabout way, steered off-course by his wicked old uncle. His deepest insecurities warped into something far more sinister than they would've been otherwise. At his core he was just a troubled little boy, who's enormous capacity for love was being tempered, stifled.

It would be so easy, the thought came to Lucy suddenly. So easy to simply… scoop him up in her arms. Thaw him there and then. The curse wasn’t overly evident yet; not to the untrained eye, anyway. But it was there. Lurking just beneath the surface. His big blue eyes had a near-imperceptible chill to them. His face, though more flushed than that of his adult, frozen self, was nevertheless quite pale. He was a ticking time bomb.

If she diffused that bomb now none of it — none of the pain, the heartbreak, the guilt and the regret — would come to pass. He would have those years his present self mourned so dearly. He would have his family. His sister.

He would be happy.

And oh, how she wanted that for him. For all of them. The zany, ragtag family she'd grown to love so dearly, over the years.

But she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t. She’d been given strict instructions by Father Time. Though it went against her every instinct, she had to let things play out the way they were meant to. The way they already had, for her to be here in the first place.

'Annnnyway, point being: I think I can handle “complicated”. So if you need someone to talk to, I'm your guy.' He grinned at her, all dimples and charm, and Lucy’s heart swelled with affection. She found herself caught between laughter and tears. It seemed inconceivable that her love for him could continue to grow any more than it already had, and yet... grow it did.

It might’ve been easier to believe him, on the "maturity" front, had he not been talking with a subtle, but nevertheless noticeable, lisp — most likely a result of his missing front teeth. To say nothing of the sizeable blob of jam in the corner of his mouth.

‘Even so, lil' man; I wouldn’t wanna bring you down,’ she said, with a gentle smile. ‘Plus, I… I don’t really feel like talking about it right now.’

‘Hm. That's understandable, I s'pose.’ He nodded seriously. ‘Welp. If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure he misses you too. Your friend.’

'You think?’

‘Sure! I mean... you seem like a nice person. I think I’d miss you, if I were him. Or he were me. Or whatever.' A little more colour rose in his face, and he glanced away bashfully, scuffing the ground with the toe of his shoe. 'I think... I think I'd be really glad to have a friend like you, actually.'

When he looked up again it was to find silent tears running down her face.

'Oh! Ah… was it… something I said?’

‘No, no, I just… that’s very s-sweet,’ Lucy warbled, dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of her cloak. ‘Thank you.’

In the next moment she found a familiar, embroidered foulard being thrust into her grip. She took it gratefully, letting it sit in her hands for several seconds. The silk was softer than she remembered it being.

‘This is l-lovely. Are you sure you don’t mind me using it?’

‘'Course not.' He waved her off. ‘My father says a gentleman always gives a crying lady his kerchief. It’s the chirivus-- chivrulus-- honourable thing to do.'

‘Oh and he's quite right. Your father’s governor, isn’t he? Governor Frost?'

'Ya-huh! That's the one.'

'He's a great man. I mi-- like him very much.’

‘Sometimes he takes me to work with him, and I get to boss people around. It’s really fun.’

‘Mm, I bet.’

#Jack Frost #Lucy Miller #adult!Lucy Miller #doctor!Lucy Miller #Jack Frost x adult!Lucy Miller #ML #Miller's Law #!fluff warning!#this is excessive I know #but I truly don't know when I'm going to be able to update ye olde Law :/ what with the whole unemployment thing #I do have a doozy of a Jacquie & Jack interaction in the next instalment. And also some Bernelle! So hopefully it'll be worth the wait!#but it's killlllling me not being able to share write-y stuffs. Hence the above #fic #writing #the santa clause #TSC #these are all incredibly self indulgent; I do apologise #I am but a jaded old lady who takes solace in long hugs and characters yearning across time n space for one another #(tell me you were brought up on dr who without telling me you were brought up on dr who)#as well as obtrusive weirdos getting cursed apparently #the implications of a curse that can be sent virtually - both from a world-building perspective and also a narrative perspective - ...#are as horrifying as they are impractical #ridiculous even #but I couldn't stop laughing at the prospect. So here it be #for now at least #needless to say I altered the circumstances of Lucy's meeting bb!Jack for the first time #this is a much younger and therefore much more happy-go-lucky Jack #younger also than the version of him in ch 5 #this Jack is probs smth like 700 - 800-ish #still a lil' charmer tho

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