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Realistic or Modern A Very Merry Sprigmas (Slepnir & Hawke.)

Sleipnir

The Eight-Legged Norse Horse
The first call hadn't been that unusual.

Alex Rhodes had never once in all his years working turned down a tough case, and he wasn't about to start on that first day: Three weeks before christmas, on December second, it was brought to him that a woman by the name of Rae Bauer was missing. Brown hair, blue eyes, 5'6", 120lb... he'd spent the first three or four days looking at her photo. But after those first three or four days, the second report came in. Then the third...

The first few had agent Rhodes looking at a specific business -- a real estate agency who employed all three. He'd conducted countless interviews and strenuous interrogations, but ultimately, didn't find much in the way of motives for murder, kidnapping, or even a connection between the three beyond their shared work. For a brief, thrillingly frightening moment, he'd even believed that perhaps he had a serial homicide on his hands. Maybe he still did.

That was when the link finally clicked into place: The location. First there were the three trying to collect land payments, now missing. Then there were three more local or semi-local, unrelated people, none of whom had links at all. Then there was one more: An employee at the Hollybrook Tree Farm. He showed up for work... then he vanished. No warning. No lead-up. The only stroke of luck the poor kids there had was that Alex was already on site when it happened. The two were no older than 17, and they begged him to believe them, that their supervisor would never just leave without telling anyone. He'd listened -- of course he'd listened.

And so there he stood. Maybe, he wondered, he still did have his serial homicide. He stood in a forest of straight rows of pine trees, most only a foot or so taller than him. The snow came up to his shins, and he had his coat collar up against the chilly breeze as he surveyed the little clearing around him. He'd seen and done enough that he considered himself prepared for anything. Almost anything. But all around him, there were strange signs. He'd already shut the whole place down, and yet he still felt watched. Something was very, very off, in the sap, in the rustling, in the way he swore he heard voices... Even in the evidence still strewn on the ground in places and in the trees.

So he did the only thing he could think to do. He flipped open his phone.



Morgan turned and looked over her shoulder when her phone started vibrating on the counter. She sighed and wiped her hands on her towel, brushed the flour off on her pants, and grabbed it. When she lifted it up to glance at the name, though, she frowned. Alex Rhodes. Alex Rhodes? She looked over her shoulder again, and leaned through the kitchen bar window. Warren was in the other room. He'd invited her over for some impromptu baking -- to help him with a cake to take to the library, he'd said. For Alex to call her felt off. But all the same, she answered the phone. "Hey. Is something wrong?"

"Hi, Morgan, I'm having a great Christmas season. Thanks for asking! Happy holidays to you, too, by the way." She scoffed and rolled her eyes at the response. He didn't wait for her to get a word in. "Yes. Well, maybe. I'm not sure. I'm on a case..."
"You can't have him."
"I'm not asking for Warren. If I was, I wouldn't have called you." Alex paused on the other end, and Morgan turned around to lean against the counter. "I... kinda think you might be who I need to consult."
"I don't know shit about criminal justice. What, is this about trees, or rocks, or...?"
"Trees." Alex's answer came quick.
Morgan raised her eyebrows. "Oh. Um... Well, okay."
"I... think something's not right." There was a short silence. "I think this might be a 'you' thing, not a 'ranger' thing. It's... I don't know."
"Then explain it in the best way you can," Morgan told him. She dropped her eyes to the floor. "You'd be surprised how well I handle that."
Alex didn't answer right away. Another silence hung, just long enough that Morgan wondered what he was thinking on his end, wherever he was calling from. "...They're pine trees. The staff here says they... aren't supposed to be here," he told her. "It's a christmas tree farm. They aren't in the rows."
"How old are they?"
"According to the staff, a few days at the oldest and some swear they weren't there at all til just today. According to the size of them..." He hesitated and sighed. "I don't know. How should I know? I don't... there's no disturbed soil, they're a little taller than me. There are divots from footprints but no other disturbance-- well..." Morgan frowned when he went back on it. "There's... I don't know. It's, um... like sap. Black sap."
Morgan's stomach dropped. It was her turn to fall silent for awhile, standing there in the kitchen, staring at the floor. A terrible, buzzing chill crawled up her spine. "...You said this has to do with a case you're on? What kind?"
"Morgan, this is--"
"You made it my problem when I answered the phone. What is it?"
Alex paused again. "Missing people," he answered. "Seven. And... we have evidence that they were here. Fabric from clothing they were last seen in."

The chill turned to ice then. For a moment that stretched on for far too long, Morgan wasn't in the kitchen anymore. She wasn't a broad-shouldered, well-muscled ranger with long hair tied up in a bun, making cake in her friend's kitchen out in Utah. She had short hair, a beat up old green sedan with one headlight, standing in a living room, where chunks of clothing, couch, and flesh hung in the branches of a tree that appeared to pop up in a heartbeat. She had an iron pipe in her hands. They were shaking. You can't let it touch you, he told herself. If it touches you, you're dead. It can't touch you.

"Get off site. You. Everyone else. Get them away from those trees, don't let anyone near them, and do not touch anything. Tell me you haven't touched anything," she urged.
"What do you take us for? No one's touched anything," he told her. Morgan let out a breath and nodded.
"Send me the address. I'll be there. Merry Christmas," she told him.
"Merry Christmas, Morgan. Stay safe getting here."

Morgan hung up and let out a sharp breath. She closed her eyes again and shook her head.

Sprig trees. It had to be sprig trees.


Hawke. Hawke.
 
The old Victorian house was all decorated, more than what he'd done in previous years. There were garlands and wreaths, lights and a tree all set up. The air in the house was warm and smelled of ginger and cinnamon.
Warren didn't really need any help with the cake, really. It was a weak attempt at seeing if she was interested in hanging out with him. Even after all that time he struggled terribly to open up to her.... He certainly wasn't able to ask her on a date. What if she said no? Alex wouldn't be able to stand him for weeks.
'Get off site. You. Everyone else.'
Warren stopped what he was doing, a spatula and bowl of yellow cake mix in front of him. He swore he heard Alex on the other line, but his hearing was less than reliable those days but he knew his best friends voice whenever he heard it. He only caught bits and pieces, something about trees on a tree farm and black sap.
When she hung the phone up he set the bowl aside. "Is everything alright? that sounded like Alex. You look.... worried."
 
Morgan whipped her head up when Warren spoke. It did a little to make her feel better, just seeing him. It didn’t help the tension in her shoulders or the way her skin prickled, though. She nodded reluctantly. “It was,” she answered. “I am. Alex is working this case…”

She trailed off and looked at her phone again as a text buzzed in. She sent a short text back — text me when you’re home, when you go to bed, and when you wake up, it said.“Up in Maine, it looks like. He thought it seemed off. He called to ask me about it and it is. I used to have this job.” She looked up at Warren again. “I’d go into people’s’ homes and I’d do… pest removal. But the pests were often dangerous and paranormal. This… what Alex has going on up there sounds a lot like something I used to see from time to time, so… I think I’m gonna go up to help out.” She sounded reluctant. She looked it, too. The idea of leaving so close to Christmas, not to see her family, but to go look at gruesome trees dripping with ichor with Alex— who she only sort of knew. They weren’t exactly close.

Well… a little, maybe. They had some pretty personal talks, she supposed, when it came to Warren Mills. And he was the one she’d rather be with during Christmas— she’d picked out a dress and makeup and everything, and already had his gift wrapped. But she tried not to mourn it too much. “…I’m worried it’ll get way, way worse if I don’t go… control some pests.”
 
“And nobody else can do it this time?” Warren was frowning, disappointed. He hadn’t been able to spend the holidays with someone in so long, much less someone that he liked and genuinely enjoyed spending time with… it was always her, she was always the one who had to go and save the day it seemed.
“I just thought you were going to spend your time off here…” he wasn’t able to mask how it made him feel, and maybe he shouldn’t hide it anyway. He was silent for a moment as he stirred the batter halfheartedly.

He could have been shocked, but he really wasn’t. This was Morgan McCoy, of course she was involved with weird supernatural monsters, AND ghosts too.
and add to that a savior complex of some sort…
 
For one brief moment, it was tempting. It was tempting to stay there, to promise she wouldn’t go anywhere, to promise she’d rather be with him… but after ages of fighting and butting heads and not being sure what Warren thought of her, she couldn’t risk that.

Not that there was much competition for Warren, when the other option in question was spriggans.

All the same, the temptation to refer Alex to the Home Safety Hotline was there. But them, there was one snag in that plan. “This is Alex we’re talking about,” she reminded Warren. “I couldn’t just… send him some random HSPC team.”

She paused then. It sure was Alex. Alex Rhodes — Warren’s best friend. Maybe more than that, she wasn’t sure — they never did act quite like they agreed on that point. She took a breath. “And… since it is, why don’t you come with me…? You could visit. Say hi.”
 
Warren wanted to argue, at first. He wanted to say that they really could just send him some random member of the HSPC… but this was Alex, and he wouldn’t really mean it anyway, he’d probably do just the same if he’d gotten the call.
Probably.
“…Guess I could. Where did you say it was? Maine?” Warren asked as he poured the cake batter into the bundt pan. “I guess I could go… I was purposefully not taking any contracts, personally.”
It could be an opportunity, though. Warren could see it.

A tree farm in Maine, it’d be cold and probably snowy…
Sure there’d be weird tree monsters and whatever else decided to come check them out. But it could be an opportunity.
He could say hi to Alex too.

“….So what do these things do, exactly?” He asked, he wasn’t looking directly at her and seemed more focused on the cake. “Are they going to be hard to get rid of?”
 
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Whether Morgan wanted to admit it or not, she knew damn well the idea of being aware so close to the holidays really did disappoint her — but she was fairly sure Warren would catch shit for it if some strangers showed up to help Alex out.

Morgan sighed and shrugged when he mentioned not taking contracts. “And I won’t ask you to take any contracts now,” she answered quickly. “You wouldn’t have to do anything. Hell, you don’t even have to go to the damn farm— we can ask Wes to help book a BnB or something and you can hang out there. I just kinda thought… you know, since Krys is in New York with her family, and you don’t seem… close… with your parents, you could come along. Alex is on his own, too, right?”

Of course, she was guessing, mostly— he’d mentioned that he didn’t date, and after the conversation she’d had with Alex outside that house they’d looked into for him, she couldn’t blame him for that. His parents… Warren had said something that made her a little unsure, but they were on the opposite coast from where their son was now. No harm in the three of them celebrating together, right?

She looked up again when Warren asked about the spriggans, and instantly, Morgan grimaced. “They can be a challenge,” she answered. “They’re little fae-type bastards, so… knowing your tools helps a lot, but I’d like to see the extent of the damage.”

Her eyes shifted off him as she thought back on the spriggan cases she’d been sent out on. Frankly, there weren’t many— and thinking of them, her memory was foggy at best and she just couldn’t seem to conjure the details anymore. She wasn’t sure whether her diet at the time had anything to do with it. Maybe that was all it was, but she’d made a point to let her therapist help her out with all that.

“Most of the time, we don’t remove them at all. There’s a possibility I’ll tell them they need to close the place down. You can live with spriggans sometimes. I’d recommend leaving offerings of water in a nice clean jar, and not eating any fruit from on-site, but… not a tree farm. When your whole thing is cutting trees, there’s no way.” She stepped back over to Warren and gently slid her hands around the bowl to take it from him. He was risking overworking the batter — and maybe she wanted him to look at her. “They grow their young inside the seeds of fruit. That’s the most common way to anger them… they cause intense vine growth, like… ‘get shut into your house overnight’ vine growth. And… they turn people into sprig trees. Trees will… grow… out of people. Much like the vines. Spriggans are no fun.”
 
Warren had no other plans now that Morgan was planning on leaving. The library already had their Christmas party, which he'd only really attended because of social pressure from his coworkers. And his parents didn't really celebrate anymore, he wasn't terribly upset. After Todd and Dustin's deaths it hadn't been the same. There was never any reunion, he wasn't wanted now that the better children were gone.
He let Morgan take the bowl away from him, "Those sound... Terrifying. Worse than a demon for sure. Not sure I'd want one living in my backyard." Saying hello to Alex didn't sound too terrible, if Wesley could find them somewhere to stay. God knows neither Morgan nor him should be renting any cabins, they'd end up with. "I don't think I'd want to hang around in a cabin alone, though. Not while you're out there dealing with.... tree sprigs. I'd want to be there too."
 
Morgan watched Warren for a few more long moments before she actually took the bowl from him. She didn’t like the idea of leaving Warren alone in a hotel or cabin any better than she liked being away, fighting spriggans.

She was quiet for a few long moments.

She had seen so many pictures and cases… she wanted Alex away from it, too, but not as badly as she wanted Warren out of it. The thought of the vines and the branches… it made her skin crawl but she couldn’t keep it out. “If you’re insistent,” she answered. “But I’ll worry about you. I don’t want you hurt or worse.”
 
"Just tell me what to do, I can handle it." Warren reassured her, "I'd remind you my job was dangerous too. I'm not incompetent." He placed his cake pan on the counter and took the bowl from Morgan, pouring the batter and placing it in the oven. "If it were in Vermont I have a cabin out there. We could've stayed in that," He hummed, it would've been a tight fit, he would have been forced to acknowledge his own anxieties about Morgan.
"...Do you know when you want to leave?"
 
Morgan just let him take the batter back and watched him pour it into the cake pan. The oven was preheated already, and she couldn't really do much more til it was time to decorate, anyway.

She watched Warren for a few long moments. The line of his shoulders, the traces of white creeping up the base of his neck, the shape of his forearms, still muscle, under his tattoos... The angle of his nose, where it had been broken sometime in the past few years. She hadn't been there for that. She didn't even know how it had happened. It was true, she knew better than to think Warren hadn't been in danger his whole adult life -- from the day he graduated college, he'd been involved with so much more than she'd ever be told. Sometimes, after a ghost hunt, she laid in her hotel room and wondered what he'd been through -- what he'd never share with her.

Hostage negotiations, bomb threats, and serial killers... those weren't spriggans, though. They didn't have the power to make branches splinter through your skin and skull at a touch. A bullet did just as much, she tried to remind herself. She took a long, slow breath. Maybe it would've been nice, if it had been in Vermont -- if she could've been alone with him in his little cabin. But there was no point in thinking too hard about that, unless she wanted to ask Wesley to room them somewhere tight on purpose.

...Assuming he didn't do that on purpose.

"I'll text Wes," she told him. "Or Krys. Then I planned on going ahead and getting a plane ticket as soon as I can. I don't want him hovering and waiting too long, and I don't want to leave it waiting for too long. The longer they're there, the more risk there is to people who might wander too close, and if Alex is there on FBI business, they won't want him doing nothing for too long, I'm sure. I just need to dig out some winter clothes."
 
"...Not a whole lot of time, I'll see what I can find." Warren said after placing his cake in the oven, he had already made his decision. He couldn't let her go without him, for a number of reasons not the least of which was the fact that he didn't want to be alone on christmas again, that sounded miserable. And maybe there was still a way to turn it around. A christmas tree farm in Maine, with the snow on the ground and christmas lights... It was Hallmark-esque, it was romantic, it was a little cheesy....
 
“Oh, you’ll find something.” Morgan looked up and responded quickly and matter-of-factly. “You’ll find something because I’m going when you go.”

***
***

The plane trip out was a late-night one, and Morgan had been more than happy to only have Warren to share her row with. It was still exhausting, even with him, and she almost would’ve walked all the way to the cabin, if only she had the option.

When the two of them arrived, though, she couldn’t complain about Wesley’s taste. Of course, she’d already known that. He’d always been in charge of booking, and he booked Morgan’s cabin with Warren almost the exact same way he would’ve booked one for her and himself back when they’d been having their little… connection, for lack of a better term.

The first thing Morgan noticed was the kitchen, just big enough for the basics, and a well decorated breakfast nook near a collection of windows peering out at the snowy foothills. She kicked her boots off in the entryway and went straight over to it to run her hand over the sealed wooden countertops. The coffee maker was only just big enough for her and Warren both to get enough out of one pot, and set out on a nice little woven place mat with a pretty paper bag of local coffee right beside it. She reached up to touch the hand-thrown ceramic mugs that hung from the cabinets, perched up in glazed shades of pastel blue, yellow, and orange, like little songbirds in a tree.

She grinned at them, then turned to look over her shoulder. The living room was closely connected, and the deep, red-brown hardwood floors creaked under her feet a little as she stepped over into it. The couch was small, with a coffee table and a little tv, lots of paintings, and a soft rug underfoot. There was only one bedroom, though, and as she stood there staring down the hallway at it, she noticed that.

Under most circumstances, she would’ve immediately thought back to one particularly ill-fated weekend she’d tried to share with Wes some time back. He’d had her on the bed when she realized a ghost was stalking them, waiting for a moment to strike. It hadn’t been a good trip, and certainly not a romantic one.

Morgan wasn’t thinking about that, though. Right then, all she could think about was the fact that it looked like Wesley was serious about making something happen here. When she dropped her backpack on the couch and hurried down the hall, though, there were two beds in the room — and she could feel a breath escape her. She turned and stepped down the hall again to meet Warren as he stepped in.

“So,” she began. “What do you think? He do okay? Maybe we should make some coffee and arrange to meet Alex.”
 

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