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“3466 Oak Avenue,” he answered both Jack and the driver, “That’s where my friend lives.” He rested his hands at his sides, then looked over to speak directly to Jack. “His name is Graham Westcotte, by the way.”
Jack nodded. "Alright." He replied, shooting a quick smile towards Lincoln. "I look forward to meeting him." He stretched, then burrowed down into his coat. "Brr, it's cold!" He exclaimed.
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Lincoln returned the smile, shifting his hand an inch closer to Jack, “It is cold. I’m looking forward his fireplace. And you meeting him.”
The carriage heaved as the driver urged the horses forward to 3466 Oak Avenue.
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Lincoln returned the smile, shifting his hand an inch closer to Jack, “It is cold. I’m looking forward his fireplace. And you meeting him.”
The carriage heaved as the driver urged the horses forward to 3466 Oak Avenue.
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Lincoln returned the smile, shifting his hand an inch closer to Jack, “It is cold. I’m looking forward his fireplace. And you meeting him.”
The carriage heaved as the driver urged the horses forward to 3466 Oak Avenue.
Jack smiled lightly. "Mm. Yes, a fireplace does sound lovely." He agreed, shifting his hand a little closer to Lincoln's, his fingers lightly brushing against the other man's.
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He let his smile widen ever so slightly, just enough so hopefully no one else would question it. His heart beat a little faster. He lifted his pinky to rest over Jack’s in subtle encouragement. Do you like me too?
Jack bit his lip a little. Bad idea. This is a bad idea. He told himself. But he slid his hand lightly into Lincoln's, slow and light. He swallowed, not quite looking at Lincoln and hoping he had not just made a terrible mistake.
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Lincoln closed his hand around his tighter, chest burning with hope. As long as they weren’t caught, this wouldn’t be a mistake, he reasoned. At least for right now. He kept staring forward, but brought his free hand up to wipe his mouth and stifle a giggle. “The bells just sound so…festive. Christmas time makes me feel like a kid again.”
Jack smiled a little, turning his hand to lace his fingers through Lincoln's slowly, hesitantly. He nodded. "Me too…I remember hearing them when I was a kid. Through the streets and stuff. It…" He shrugged a little.
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Lincoln relaxed against the backrest, but kept his fingers firmly entertwined with Jack's. He turned his head to lookat him now. "My grandparents would decorate almost every inch of their house—especialley the foyer with christmas trees and wreathes. The sound of Christmas for me was jingle bells and ragtime on the gramophone."
Jack looked at him, and tried to pretend that the faint blush on his cheeks was only from the cold. "That sounds lovely." He replied, smiling. "My mother used to do nearly the same thing. I grew up hearing old Christmas songs blasting through the house, and Christmas trees everywhere she could out them. Real ones, not fake ones, which always shocked my friends."
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"Ohh you mean those artificial trees? The feather ones?" He shook his head, "I'm not as keen on those either," he gave an even more uninhibited smile as he watched Jack.
Jack nodded. "Well, in my time they're made of other materials as well. My mom always went to the effort to get real ones. The house would smell like pine and tree sap, and gingerbread on the weekends." He smiled, eyes going distant with memories in the way of someone remembering something that may never happen again.
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“Mm,” he closed his eyes and smiled. “I haven’t had gingerbread in the longest time. I can barely remember what it takes like.” He sighed, then bat his eyes open again as he felt a cold fleck land on his nose. “Oh, I think snowing.”
Jack nodded, and blinked, focusing again. "Gingerbread is delicious." he replied. He raised his eyebrows, looking around, then grinned. "Yes, it is." he stretched, and stuck out his tongue, catching a snowflake on it. He looked over at Lincoln with a happy grin.
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Lincoln laughed aloud, “Impressive!” He beamed with a full-fledged smile, eyes squinting nearly closed. White specks began to sporadically accumulate on his black trench coat and hat. He steadied himself with his free hand on the “ledge” beside himself as the carriage turned onto a street lined with pleasantly decorated —Victorian built—houses.
Jack grinned. "Hey, maybe it followed me." he said with a laugh. "You know, from my own time." he smiled over at Lincoln, acutely aware of the fact that their hands were still linked together on the seat. How do you really feel? Are you just tolerating this because of Tip? Or do you really like me?
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“Hah! Probably,” his laughter turned into stifled giggles. He squeezed Jack’s hand before reluctantly pulling it away, “…We’re here,” he added. He cast a brief apologetic look to Jack. Please understand I just don’t want anyone to see our hands…I wish the ride was longer so we could stay like this.
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of a brick building composed of two houses side by side. It was separated from the street with a black fence and bare vegetation. Someone sat in the upper bay window with his back towards the outside.
Jack chuckled, then nodded, letting out a soft sigh. "Alright." he stood, stretching, then shivered, pulling his arms tight around himself against the cold. "Well. Let's meet this friend of yours, then." he smiled at Lincoln, covering up his disappointment about having to let go of his hand.
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“Yes!” His expression lit up again at the mention of his friend. He stood up off the bench and inched towards the carriage door. “I haven’t seen him in a few days, I can’t wait to see him,” he bounced on his heels giddily and hopped to the ground. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, hardly able to contain his excitement while he waited for Jack.
Jack followed him out with a soft smile. "Alright." he replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. He wished he had remembered to bring gloves or mittens with him, but he hadn't. Which he regretted now. He stared up at the house appreciatively. "Huh. That's really pretty looking." he commented.
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Lincoln nodded in hearty agreement, “Oh yes, I love these houses. It makes me wish I could afford to live in one,” he glanced off to the side with a dreamy grin set on his lips. He didn’t think too long about it before he passed through the gate and walked the short distance to his friend’s porch. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Jack followed.
Jack blinked, and followed Lincoln after a moment. "They're really rare in my time. Real ones, I mean. Plenty of people build replicas, but the actual, original structures? There aren't many still standing." he said. "So…this is one of the things I love about this. About time traveling. I get to actually see buildings like this, and see them as they were back in this time period." he smiled lightly.
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Lincoln rapped the knocker against the door. A fraction of disappointment leaked into his expression, “Damn,” he blinked, looking at his friend. He didn’t notice the curtains beside the door whip open, then close just as fast. “I just never thought about how these structures wouldn’t be here forever… but it makes sense. I’m glad you get to see them in person,” he smiled wider again, yet softer.
Jack nodded. "Mhm. Eventually, I want to do a tour of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient world. See all of them as they used to look." he replied. "In my time…most of the pyramids have fallen down, or are in such bad shape that they'll be gone pretty soon."
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He winced, “Oh, that’s disappointing. But…” he rocked on his heels, “If we get Tip fixed…would I be able to travel with you? I’d—“ he planned to say more, but was interrupted by the door opening. Lincoln looked between Jack and the man who opened the door. He wanted to finish this conversation, but…he couldn’t in front of someone from his own time. I’ll just ask him when we’re alone again…
“Is that you Lincoln Egle?” The man in the doorway asked with a crooked smile on his face and a toddler nestled in the crook of his arm, who kept her knuckles pressed nervously against her lips. The man was dressed informally in an undershirt and suspenders holding up brown suit pants. His brown hair was cleanly cut to his temples and parted down the middle. “Mighty scandalous of you to arrive without an announcement,” he teased. He didn’t look directly at Lincoln or Jack, looking somewhere over Lincoln’s shoulder.
“Haha! Yes! Indeed! And I’m so rude I brought a guest with me,” he chuckled. “Graham, this is Jack Morgan—Jack, this is my close friend Graham Westcotte.”
Graham blinked, holding out his free arm in a random direction to shake Jack’s hand, “Ah, Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morgan,” he offered a polite smile.
Jack nodded. "Yeah, you-" he stopped as the door opened, giving the other man a polite smile, shaking his head. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Westcotte." he replied, letting go after he was done shaking his hand. "Lincoln's told me great things about you." he added, hoping he wasn't completely messing this up.
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“Oh, Lincoln flatters me to much,” he bowed his head with a bit of retained laughter. His daughter shifted in his arms to press closer against his shoulder. “And this is my darling and my world, Michelle.” His voice jumped six octaves as he referenced the toddler, “She’s a bit shy.”
“She’s basically my niece,” Lincoln reached over to ruffle her hair.
Michelle was the name of the daughter Lincoln didn’t have yet.
Jack blinked. Michelle. That's the girl…oh. Oh no. What happens to this man? He wondered, biting his lip for a moment. "Ah." He smiled slightly, looking at the little girl. "Hello there." he reached out his hand to her gently, giving her a smile.
