Happy Holidays, jehane18!
Author: fieryrogue
Recipient: jehane18
Title: And So This Is Christmas
Pairing(s): David Cook/David Archuleta
Word Count: 5595
Summary: Sometimes it's a "hurry up and wait" kind of day.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: We are in no way officially affiliated with David Cook, David Archuleta or their representation. Everything about them is completely fiction, and any similarity with reality is a mere coincidence. No copyright infringement is ever intended.
Warning(s): I had no time for beta-ing, I'm so sorry (I ran over two deadlines for goodness sake, gah!) so this might be a mess. Yeah, that's a warning.
Author's Notes: This is where I say that I didn't follow jehane18's requests at all. But I think she'll like it anyway? OH DEAR, I HOPE SO. *hopes* I can't help what the muse brings me! Besides, I think she'll forgive me. Maybe. (Also, frackin_sweet said it was okay, so I relinquish all responsibility onto her.) (Of course, she did also give me ideas, so, I shall now recall all the responsibility back onto myself. ♥)
AND SO THIS IS CHRISTMAS
"Run, Archie! Run, run, run!"
David's feet thumped along the nearly dizzyingly swirly-patterned carpet of the Denver airport. His backpack slid down his shoulder and he struggled to hold it up and keep running at the same time. He and Cook were supposed to have had a direct flight from LAX into Salt Lake City, but apparently the Utah weather had decided not to cooperate and their flight had been canceled. Though they'd been told they could wait it out, Cook had gotten antsy and insisted that they at least try to move east, maybe circumvent the storm that was apparently threatening Salt Lake. The next flight leaving to anywhere had been to Phoenix, and that was good enough for Cook.
That had also been yesterday.
Since then they had faced more depressing weather reports than David could remember in his whole of growing up in Utah, and had encountered several delayed (some multiple times) and outright canceled flights in a handful of cities. They had also managed to not only surpass Salt Lake City, but to keep moving further eastward of it. Finally they had managed a promise of Albuquerque, which took them south, but at least not any further towards the Atlantic Ocean. It seemed that Albuquerque had at least a few flights going into Utah, even in the face of questionable weather.
"Archie, keep running! We have to catch this flight in like two minutes! I thought you went running every morning, this shouldn't be a problem."
"I don't usually run in my church pants and a sweater vest," David said, panting, "and lugging a backpack and a coat and--"
"I'm carrying my guitar!" Cook exclaimed, flailing his guitar-laden hand as much as he could and looking appropriately winded. "You think I like bumping this thing around all over?"
"I'm not the one who wouldn't check my musical instruments," David replied, clutching a stitch in his chest. "You're lucky it's fit into the overhead compartments so far."
"Well, when you've had an airline smash one of your pianos, then we can talk," Cook breathed, gasping. "Here we are, Gate E9."
David swayed a little at the sudden stop, his head spinning. Cook sifted through his fistful of paperwork as David tried to blink the world into focus. His eyes settled on the electronic board listing the flight statuses and felt his heart sink almost instantly. At the top of the list he read, "Flight 9680 to Albuquerque" followed by large, red, capital letters spelling out "CANCELED."
In the meantime, Cook had produced the two tickets he had just acquired and flashed them at the ticket taker. "Did we make it?" he asked eagerly. "We ran all the way here. Please tell me we made it."
The woman took his ticket and immediately responded, "That flight has been canceled, sir."
David saw Cook's eyes grow to the size of dinner plates.
"What?" Cook spat, leaning into the counter. "I just bought those tickets five minutes ago. Five minutes ago that lady at the other end of the airport sold me tickets to a plane that is supposed to be on its way to Albuquerque in two minutes."
"Yes," the woman replied, unaffected. "And it was canceled four minutes ago."
David was pretty sure he could see steam coming off his boyfriend's forehead, so he grabbed Cook by the arm and pulled him away from the counter.
"Come on then," David said, "let's not waste time. We've got to find another way."
Cook scoffed. "Not waste time? Did you seriously just say that?"
"It wasn't my idea to leave L.A.," David replied, still tugging on Cook's sleeve. "We could have gone home for a bit then. Slept in a bed? Spent Christmas Eve in front of a fire, at least, instead of fighting off that guy who kept falling asleep on you."
"Stop being so sensible," Cook grumbled, once again hitching his guitar up over his shoulder. "I just wanted to get you home; you haven't been there in so long. Well, and I was excited, to be honest. I feel like a proper wife now, coming home with you for Christmas."
David gave Cook a peculiar look as they walked along. "If anyone is the wife--" he started.
"Are you going to imply I'm the clueless husband?" Cook asked, brow raising.
"Well, you did just say I was the sensible one," David pointed out. "So."
"Not only are you sensible, but you use my own words against me. You really are the wife."
"Quiet," David replied, smiling. "Before you've compelled me to bring home a cat or something."
~*~
David checked the time on his phone. The numbers switched to 10:33am and he tried to figure out if he was in the Central or Mountain time zone again.
"Central," Cook informed him when he asked. "All of Oklahoma is."
"Right. Well, I guess 9:30 isn't too early at home to call," David said, beginning to type the number into his phone. "Let Mom know where we are."
"She's going to start thinking we're running away," Cook commented. His brow was scrunched in concentration as he prodded at his iPhone, apparently getting more irritated with the game he was trying to play. "You know she's afraid of that, right? That we're gonna fly off to Sweden or somewhere and get married without anyone knowing."
"Shhh," David hissed, ignoring Cook's comments. "It's ringing."
"Merry Christmas, mijo!" Lupe greeted cheerfully upon answering the phone. "How are you?"
"We're good, Mama," David answered. "We've been in Oklahoma City for a bit now."
"Four hours," Cook interjected, jabbing at his phone. "With no end in sight."
"Oh, David, that's so far!" Lupe exclaimed. David was glad she apparently couldn't hear Cook. "Will you make it for dinner, do you think?"
"I don't know," David answered truthfully. The next route they'd been sent on was to Salt Lake via Oklahoma City, but once they'd arrived it seemed that no one knew when the next flight to SLC might actually be. ("You do know there's a snowstorm going through there, right?" the attendant had said. The look Cook gave the man could have set the building ablaze.) At that point they'd been put on a list that seemed to define the word "wait."
"We have no itinerary yet," David explained to his mother, "but we'll probably be called soon."
"Oh, I do hope you make it," Lupe said. "They say the storm is lightening up a bit, so flights might start coming through. I don't want you to miss breakfast and dinner both."
"We'll try, Mama," David sighed, remembering the cinnamon rolls his mom and sisters always made on Christmas morning. "You're an hour behind us now," he added, "so at least we'll be going back in time when we come."
"We'll save the hour for you," Lupe replied affectionately. "Oh, David, I have to go, Abuelita is here and I must go help her in."
"Of course," David said. "Tell her Merry Christmas for me!"
David hung up the phone and then gazed over at Cook. In four hours time, his boyfriend had relaxed into his seat, having spread himself out across about four chairs, his jacket trailing onto the floor and his feet propped up on the row of seats opposite him. A half-empty coffee cup teetered precariously on the neighboring seat.
"We missed breakfast," David said hollowly.
"Untrue," Cook said, jabbing the screen on his phone forcefully. "I bought you a banana and a bagel in Denver at three this morning."
"I meant Christmas breakfast, Cook," David clarified, a little annoyed. "Cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate with marshmallows."
Cook glanced up from his game, raising an eyebrow. "Do you want a hot chocolate, Archie?"
"No, I just... we were supposed to be there yesterday and now we're stuck here indefinitely on Christmas. And missing everything." David sighed and added, "It's fine. Mom will hold Christmas for us as long as possible. I know she will."
"I do wish I'd had the opportunity to wake up on Christmas morning at the Archuleta homestead," Cook said, his eyes sort of glazing over. "I bet it's like heaven."
David laughed gently. "What is that supposed to mean, exactly?"
"Oh, just that I'm sure it's like every Christmas movie I've ever seen," Cook explained, blinking himself back into reality and turning his attention back to his phone. "Flannel pajamas and hot chocolate and cozy morning kisses..."
"Great, I think you're just making it worse now," David replied, slumping uncomfortably in his seat opposite Cook. "Next you'll be lamenting about building snowmen and giving them button eyes and a corncob pipe or whatever."
"Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves," Cook said, sort of frowning. "Don't forget that snow is the reason we're stuck in a random airport on Christmas Day with no hope of survival. I'm sure we'll be stuck here for the rest of our lives."
For a moment David considered saying that no, he, Cook, was the reason that they were stuck in a random airport on Christmas Day and that he himself would have rather waited out the storm in L.A., but then he thought better of it. Instead, he sunk further into his chair as if he were melting right out of it, and stared at the ceiling, considering the possibility that their first trip out of L.A. had actually ended in a plane crash and they were currently living out an undetermined number of days in purgatory.
He then wondered if their punishment grew longer every time Cook made a scowly face at a ticket agent, which was probably (and seemed to be) true.
His thoughts were interrupted by the public address system overhead crackling to life and a voice announcing quite briskly, "Mr. David Cook, please report to the ticketing counter at Gate C1. David Cook to ticketing counter C1."
The message ended in the same sort of crackle that brought it to life, and David sat up, immediately grabbing all of his things.
"Now be nice," David said as he helped Cook clear up his mess as well. "If you're rude that lady will send us to Siberia or something.
"When am I ever not nice?" Cook inquired, slinging his guitar over his shoulder once again as if he were hiking over the Alps with it. "I am the epitome of a gentleman," he added.
"Oh!" David replied, jabbing Cook in the rib with a finger, attempting to prod him along. "That must be whenever I'm in the bathroom or something. Dang my bladder, making me miss important things like that."
"I could leave you here, you know," Cook joked, giving David a sideways glance. "I'll do it."
"Of course you will," David hummed. "Walk faster, they're calling your name again."
~*~
"St. Louis?! They're gonna have us in Paris by the end of all this," Cook exclaimed, clutching yet another ticket in his hand as he and David walked briskly from one end of the airport to the other.
"Well, that wouldn't be so bad," David replied, trying to ease his boyfriend's nerves. "I think they light up the Eiffel Tower and everything."
"Maybe next year I'll plan that instead and we'll end up stuck in Utah instead of out of it," Cook commented, puffing slightly. The combination of heavy knit sweater and leather jacket wasn't doing him any favors, but he refused to take it off even though David had suggested it several times now. ("I am wearing this sweater!" Cook had declared, pink-faced. "Your mother gave it to me!" "Well, she can't see you right now, can she?" David had answered. "It's the principle of the thing!" Cook had reasoned. "Fine, you're the one sweating to death," David had concluded.)
"If they're going to send us to Missouri, we could at least go to Kansas City," Cook said, nearly crumpling his ticket in annoyance.
"But your family's in New York for Christmas," David reminded him. "What good would that be?"
"I know where the good bars are," Cook answered as if he'd expected the conversation to go this way. "Well, here we are, gate D11."
Much to David's dismay, however, just as Cook leaned lazily against the clerk's counter in order to ease his load, the short, dark-haired woman manning the station flicked on the mic at the desk and spoke into it.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, her voice carrying loudly over the PA. "I regret to inform you that the 1:10pm flight to St. Louis has been--"
David held his breath a moment, afraid of that dreadful word they had already heard repeatedly for two days straight.
"Delayed," she finished, and David sighed in relief. All he wanted at this point was for no more flights to be completely canceled; delayed he could deal with. Cook shot a look at him that was practically piercing.
"I didn't delay it!" David said instantly. "And at least it's not canceled. And," he emphasized, "there is a flight straight to Salt Lake once we get to St. Louis. Remember, the lady told us."
"Oh yes, just like they told us in Phoenix," Cook said, now dragging his plunder to a nearby bank of hard-looking chairs. "And Las Vegas, and Denver and... where are we now?"
"Oklahoma City," David answered evenly.
"And also assuming they aren't all booked like in all those places," Cook continued, "or canceled," he added, "Well. We might just make it for New Year's, I suppose."
David gripped the straps on his backpack tightly, frowning. He too was getting frustrated with the global run around (not to mention sleeping in airport chairs and eating meals consisting of pretzels and badly made sandwiches), but Cook being cranky was really the worst part. Before they had left home he had purposefully told Cook that he loved when they traveled together because it meant that at least he wouldn't be lonely, and had someone to talk to along the way. Given the last two days, however, he was just about ready to retract the sentiment completely.
"We're going to make it," David said, sitting in the seat next to Cook stiffly. "Almost there, practically."
Cook, who had been leaning his elbows against his knees and staring at the floor, looked up and squinted at his companion. "Yeah, if we were coming from Florida," he said. "You're always so positive," he added a second later, a certain amount of pleasantness returning to his voice. "It's pretty annoying."
"Thank you," David said seriously as he leaned back into his seat. He fought the smirk trying to take over his lips.
~*~
"All right, Archie, your go."
"I'm not any good at this at all," David protested, thumbing the crisp playing card in his hand. He squinted at the Chiefs baseball cap that Cook had dug out of his backpack and placed about ten feet in front of them on the floor. He'd lost count of how many cards he'd flung across the room in the last half an hour, not one of them landing in the hat no matter how many different ways he tried. Again he attempted to flip his wrist the way Cook had told him to do, but the card bounced off the bill of the hat and flopped on the floor, the side with the picture of the St. Louis arch facing upward.
"You're getting closer," Cook encouraged, now taking his own turn at it. His card depicting a crude map of the state (and the words, "MISSOURI: The Show-Me State") sailed right into the hat, not even gracing the sides. "Did you see that, Archie? Just like that."
David let his remaining cards fall into his lap. Sighing, he glanced up at the wall clock directly across from them for the ninetieth time in the last ten minutes. The minute hand clicked reluctantly forward to 8:12pm and David glanced over to Cook, who was gazing back at him.
"What's wrong, Archie?" Cook asked, setting his own stack of cards down on the table at his side.
"Oh, this just isn't that fun to me," David admitted, "and it's after eight now, which means we missed dinner and--"
David's phone started ringing suddenly, making him jump in his seat. It hadn't rung in hours, and the sudden blast of his ringtone nearly gave him a heart attack. Glancing at the screen he saw that it was his mom, and he nearly dropped it in his haste to answer.
"Mijo," Lupe said quickly, as if she were hurrying out the door. "How are you? Any news yet?"
"Still in St. Louis," David answered. There was a beep in his ear and glancing quickly at the phone's screen he could see that his battery was about to give out. Cook's had died about an hour and a half prior, and somehow in his infinite wisdom he'd packed the phone chargers into the checked luggage and not the carry-on bags. "Mama, my phone is going to die any second, so--"
"Oh, well, I just wanted to check on you before -- Amber, put your boots on for goodness sake, that snow will ruin those shoes instantly."
"Are you going somewhere?" David asked, as he could now hear shuffling and excitable talking in the background.
"Off for some Christmas caroling," Lupe answered distractedly. "Daniel is going to be our male soloist tonight, it looks like, which scares him to death, of course."
"Oh," David said now, his heart sinking. How he could have forgotten about caroling after dinner, he wasn't sure. Maybe because it didn't seem like Christmas at all anymore, just the typical bustle of airport living like any other day of the year.
"We've still not opened presents yet, David," Lupe was adding over more scuffling, and David was sure she was locking the house now. "We're waiting for you boys to get here."
"Oh Mama, you don't have to--"
David's phone made another protesting wail just before blinking out into the blackness of death. He stared at it angrily a moment before tossing it onto the seat next to him, and looked up at Cook wearily.
"What's up?" Cook asked, flipping one of his cards between his fingers. "Are they going somewhere?"
"Caroling," David answered flatly, his disappointment more than apparent. "I totally forgot."
"Oh, Arch, I'm sorry," Cook replied, his fingers stilling. "I know that's your favorite part. And I'm sorry I'll miss it too."
"You could have been our rock star voice," David said, trying to sound cheerful, but for once it just wasn't working. "They still haven't opened presents yet though. They're waiting for us."
"What?" Cook asked, surprise overtaking his face. "I thought the Archuletas opened their presents first thing in the morning."
"They do," David said, now picking at a loose thread on his shirt sleeve. "Usually."
Cook scrunched his brow. "Well, what the heck are they waiting for us for? They'll be waiting until spring at this rate."
"I tried to tell her, but that's when my phone died."
Cook chewed his lip a moment before saying, "Dang, I wish I hadn't packed your present."
David blinked at him, totally confused. "What?" he said. "What are you talking about?"
"I packed your present in my suitcase," Cook explained, "but I wish I had it now. You look like you could use it."
For some reason David felt a little unnerved by this statement, because knowing his boyfriend this was the kind of thing that could turn into an inappropriate-for-public conversation very quickly.
"Why?" he asked, part of him wishing he didn't dare the question. "What is it?"
"I'm not going to tell you what your present is, silly," Cook laughed. He ran his fingers through his pathetic-looking hair, tugging lightly on the ends. "I was just thinking you could use a round of gifts is all."
"Well, I mailed your present to Mom's house two weeks ago," David replied. "So it doesn't even matter. I couldn't give you yours even if you gave me mine."
"Okay, here's what we're gonna do," Cook announced, suddenly gathering up his jacket and playing cards. "I'm gonna find you a present in this airport if it's the last thing I do. How's that sound?"
David stared at Cook like he was totally out of his mind. "What?" he said. "You're going to what?"
"Buy you a Christmas present," Cook repeated, now scooping up the rest of the cards strewn around the floor and collecting them in his Chiefs cap. "This place isn't exactly the mall, but it'll do. Now you can't come with me, of course, so I'll meet you in an hour at... at the Pretzel Time across the way there."
Before David could answer, Cook leaned in and kissed him quickly, then hitching his guitar onto his back, strode away down the corridor. David watched him until he was out of sight, then sighed. Cook could really be ridiculous sometimes.
~*~
More than a half an hour had passed, and though David had been poking his head into the little book and gift shops all along the corridor, nothing had really struck him as good enough to give to Cook for Christmas. He knew Cook wouldn't even care and definitely wasn't thinking about the possibility of a return gift, but the moral obligation sat heavy in David's chest.
It had occurred to David, however, as he thumbed through souvenir postcard books and magnets shaped like state maps that they were currently stuck in Cook's home state, which to him meant there wasn't really anything special about Missouri that Cook didn't already know about. Still, he wandered along the tight aisles of the gift shop he was in, trying his hardest not to knock things over with his backpack. Most of what lined the shelves was similar to everything he'd seen in the last six shops he'd been in though, so he once again made his way out, smiling nicely to the woman working at the counter.
Checking his watch, David saw that he had ten minutes to get back to where he'd agreed to meet Cook, which was all the way on the other end of the long corridor from where he currently stood. Hiking up his backpack, he started back down the hall, disappointed that he couldn't find even a silly little thing to give to Cook.
He passed by all the little souvenir shops that he'd visited before, giving hopeful last minute glimpses into each one as he hustled by. None of them had seemed to miraculously change in the last hour, which left David feeling more disgruntled the more he went along. Just before he came around the last stretch of hallway however, he passed the little magazine stand that had been crowded the first time he'd gone by. He paused a moment, scanning the racks.
"Can I help you find something, sir?" the man who operated the little stand asked.
David looked up, biting his lip. "Yeah," he said. "Have you got the latest issue of Billboard?"
"Yes, sir," the man answered, grabbing it from a shelf David hadn't skimmed yet. "Came yesterday morning. Anything else for you?"
"No, I think that's--" David started to reach for his wallet, but stopped short as his eyes fell upon a smaller rack on the other side of the man's kiosk. There were a few books that David recognized as current best-sellers. Next to them were a variety of Sudoku and word search puzzle books, and at the very end of the row -- the thickest crossword puzzle book he'd seen in his entire life.
"And this," he said, reaching for the book. The cover advertised "Over a thousand puzzles!" in large red print.
"Excellent choice," the man commented, adding the book to David's total. David quickly paid, thanked the man and then dashed off down the hall, now five minutes late for meeting Cook.
Running in airports was starting to feel natural to David now, along with the feeling of rushing only to be disappointed upon arrival at his destination. Cook was nowhere to be found near the pretzel place, which made David check his whereabouts at least four times to make sure he had gone to the right place. Finally though, he turned to see Cook jogging along the corridor, a huge shopping bag in one hand while he struggled with keeping his guitar under control with the other.
"Sorry I'm late, Arch," Cook breathed, puffing a little. "I got caught up at the other end of the airport."
David smiled at how disheveled his boyfriend looked. Cook's hair stood up in every direction and his shirt collar had flipped up on one side. The sweater he wore over it had gotten a little twisted and David couldn't help but reach out to straighten it.
"It's okay," David assured him, purposefully not telling him that he had lost track of time at his end of the airport as well. "Just so long as you didn't secretly get on a plane out of here without me."
Cook hitched his guitar up on his shoulder and grabbed at David's wrist. "Come on, let's go over here. It looks like that gate over there is closed, there's barely anyone there."
David followed Cook until they'd ducked into a little alcove of a waiting area, occupied only by a man in a business suit hunched in the corner fast asleep, and an older woman knitting a scarf a few seats down from him. David grinned and nodded a hello to the woman, and she smiled back at him fondly.
Cook led David to the far end of the waiting area before letting his guitar slip from his shoulder and leaning it in the corner gap between his chosen seat and the wall. He grabbed for David's backpack and slung it into the corner as well, then turned and pulled David down with him onto the hard bench seat.
"Here," Cook said, immediately pushing his large shopping bag into David's lap. "The best present the St. Louis airport had to offer. I think you're gonna love it."
David let his own small bag drop beside him as he took on Cook's huge purchase. Carefully he pulled the handles apart, and peered inside.
"Well, take it out, Archie, come on!" Cook encouraged, shoving his own hand in there impatiently. He pulled out a large fold of fabric, which immediately began to unfold in front of him. David quickly grabbed for one of the corners, straightening it to discover orange writing spelling out "University of Missouri" across the middle, a fierce-looking tiger snarling underneath.
"You always get cold on flights," Cook explained, "and I know those airplane blankets are never good enough. Then I remembered how you got a crick in your neck when you tried to sleep in that chair in Oklahoma City, so I got you this to go with it..."
Cook dug around in the bag again, this time revealing a neck pillow that also bore the UM logo on one corner. He leaned over and tucked it around David's neck, pushing him back against the wall as if testing to make sure it worked properly. He then draped the blanket over David's chest and tucked it loosely around his arms.
"Well?" he asked, one hand squeezing David's thigh. "Comfy?"
David actually did feel pretty comfortable, given he'd started to get used to the hard seating in airports.
"I feel sleepy already," he said, slouching a little against the wall. "Thank you. It's the best airport Christmas present I've ever gotten."
Cook laughed and then leaned in to give David a quick kiss. He wasn't completely certain, but he could have sworn that he saw the knitting lady glance up at them briefly and then quickly look back down at her knitting, grinning. It always made him feel a little awkward when people looked at him from across rooms, almost especially when they didn't say anything to him but rather just looked, not to mention that his boyfriend had just kissed him which had definitely turned awkward more than once in public.
"Oh, I... I got you something," David suddenly remembered as he sat up. "It's not... it's not as good, but--"
"You didn't have to do that," Cook said predictably. David picked up the small bag at his side and thrust it at Cook, a little embarrassed by its total lack of creativity.
"Hmm," Cook hummed, pulling out the Billboard magazine. "If it weren't for the fact that we have these coming to our house every week already..."
"Oh!" David exclaimed, grabbing the magazine out of Cook's grasp. "Sorry, that was for me. It's the other thing."
Cook grinned at David before peering into the bag. He let out a sharp, barking laugh before reaching in to extract the crossword book.
"Oh my God, Arch," Cook declared, still laughing. "Ha ha, this is the best airport Christmas present I've ever gotten. A thousand puzzles! Where was this when we were waiting for hours on end all day?" He flipped open the book and started scanning the clues on a random puzzle. "This is a good one even! Challenging clues without being too difficult. Thanks, Arch, I love it."
Again Cook turned to give David a kiss, this one lasting a bit longer. "I'm glad you like it," David said quietly against Cook's lips. "But I don't wanna find them strewn all over the living room because you get stuck."
Cook laughed and replied, "I promise."
David pulled his new blanket up over his chest, tucking it a little around his sides. His eyes fell across the room to where the knitting woman still worked away on her scarf, barely looking at it as she did so. As if she could sense his gaze, she glanced up and caught his eye. Again she smiled brightly at him and he smiled to her in return. Beyond where she sat the little alcove opened up into floor-to-ceiling windows, and David could see out onto the runway. Men in orange safety vests skittered about, waving their flashlights at one another and hauling equipment from one place to another. The fall of darkness had also brought rain with it, and David became temporarily distracted by the trickles of water coming down the glass, reflecting the runway lights in crooked streaks.
"So this is Christmas," he said, absently. He felt the disappointment of missing the day sink into his stomach. "And what have we done?"
Cook, who had rested his hand on David's thigh, suddenly jolted next to him.
"Archie, of course," he said, now grabbing at his guitar and pulling it towards himself. "For once your jukebox brain saves the day."
"What?" David asked, now looking back at his boyfriend. Cook had opened the case, pulled out his guitar and was plucking at the strings, making minor adjustments to the tuning. "What'd I say?"
"Oh, please," Cook replied. "Don't tell me you've moved on to not even realizing when you're quoting songs now. Your subconscious is starting to scare me."
David was still baffled by Cook's comment when the latter began strumming something that sounded awfully familiar. Trying to think of what it was, David looked away as people do when they're thinking, as if they expect the answer to be written on the wall opposite them or something. The knitting woman paused in her work, letting her hands fall into her lap just as Cook began to sing.
"And so this is Christmas
And what have you done?
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you had fun
The near and the dear ones
The old and the young
A very merry Christmas
And a happy new year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear..."
Cook's voice echoed through the empty terminal, sending shivers through David's body. He always felt this way when Cook sang, but there was something in the spirit of it in this moment that made him actually feel like it was finally Christmas. There was no snow, no Christmas tree, and no hot chocolate. His mom wasn't handing our presents or serving them dinner, and no caroling had happened. But somehow, right now, in this deserted airport terminal, it had arrived.
At the end of the song, applause erupted all around them, and a couple people whooped and whistled. Only then did David realize that people who had been passing slowed and stopped to listen to Cook's song. Cook seemed unphased by them however, and looked back at David, leaned close to him and whispered into his ear.
"Happy Christmas," Cook said, his nose brushing David's ear. "I don't think I said that today."
"You didn't," David replied, leaning into Cook as well. "But I assumed you didn't know what day it was anyway. Besides, at midnight we were racing to our next canceled flight in Denver."
"It doesn't matter anyway," Cook said, now squeezing David's knee with his free hand. "Every day with you is like Christmas."
David didn't have time to respond before his lips were met with Cook's in a soft, tender kiss that went on for ages. Cook distractedly let his guitar go at his side and his fingers snaked into David's hair when somewhere in the distance the announcement was made: "Flight 1215 to Salt Lake City, now boarding at Gate B6."
=====
Recipient: jehane18
Title: And So This Is Christmas
Pairing(s): David Cook/David Archuleta
Word Count: 5595
Summary: Sometimes it's a "hurry up and wait" kind of day.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: We are in no way officially affiliated with David Cook, David Archuleta or their representation. Everything about them is completely fiction, and any similarity with reality is a mere coincidence. No copyright infringement is ever intended.
Warning(s): I had no time for beta-ing, I'm so sorry (I ran over two deadlines for goodness sake, gah!) so this might be a mess. Yeah, that's a warning.
Author's Notes: This is where I say that I didn't follow jehane18's requests at all. But I think she'll like it anyway? OH DEAR, I HOPE SO. *hopes* I can't help what the muse brings me! Besides, I think she'll forgive me. Maybe. (Also, frackin_sweet said it was okay, so I relinquish all responsibility onto her.) (Of course, she did also give me ideas, so, I shall now recall all the responsibility back onto myself. ♥)
AND SO THIS IS CHRISTMAS
"Run, Archie! Run, run, run!"
David's feet thumped along the nearly dizzyingly swirly-patterned carpet of the Denver airport. His backpack slid down his shoulder and he struggled to hold it up and keep running at the same time. He and Cook were supposed to have had a direct flight from LAX into Salt Lake City, but apparently the Utah weather had decided not to cooperate and their flight had been canceled. Though they'd been told they could wait it out, Cook had gotten antsy and insisted that they at least try to move east, maybe circumvent the storm that was apparently threatening Salt Lake. The next flight leaving to anywhere had been to Phoenix, and that was good enough for Cook.
That had also been yesterday.
Since then they had faced more depressing weather reports than David could remember in his whole of growing up in Utah, and had encountered several delayed (some multiple times) and outright canceled flights in a handful of cities. They had also managed to not only surpass Salt Lake City, but to keep moving further eastward of it. Finally they had managed a promise of Albuquerque, which took them south, but at least not any further towards the Atlantic Ocean. It seemed that Albuquerque had at least a few flights going into Utah, even in the face of questionable weather.
"Archie, keep running! We have to catch this flight in like two minutes! I thought you went running every morning, this shouldn't be a problem."
"I don't usually run in my church pants and a sweater vest," David said, panting, "and lugging a backpack and a coat and--"
"I'm carrying my guitar!" Cook exclaimed, flailing his guitar-laden hand as much as he could and looking appropriately winded. "You think I like bumping this thing around all over?"
"I'm not the one who wouldn't check my musical instruments," David replied, clutching a stitch in his chest. "You're lucky it's fit into the overhead compartments so far."
"Well, when you've had an airline smash one of your pianos, then we can talk," Cook breathed, gasping. "Here we are, Gate E9."
David swayed a little at the sudden stop, his head spinning. Cook sifted through his fistful of paperwork as David tried to blink the world into focus. His eyes settled on the electronic board listing the flight statuses and felt his heart sink almost instantly. At the top of the list he read, "Flight 9680 to Albuquerque" followed by large, red, capital letters spelling out "CANCELED."
In the meantime, Cook had produced the two tickets he had just acquired and flashed them at the ticket taker. "Did we make it?" he asked eagerly. "We ran all the way here. Please tell me we made it."
The woman took his ticket and immediately responded, "That flight has been canceled, sir."
David saw Cook's eyes grow to the size of dinner plates.
"What?" Cook spat, leaning into the counter. "I just bought those tickets five minutes ago. Five minutes ago that lady at the other end of the airport sold me tickets to a plane that is supposed to be on its way to Albuquerque in two minutes."
"Yes," the woman replied, unaffected. "And it was canceled four minutes ago."
David was pretty sure he could see steam coming off his boyfriend's forehead, so he grabbed Cook by the arm and pulled him away from the counter.
"Come on then," David said, "let's not waste time. We've got to find another way."
Cook scoffed. "Not waste time? Did you seriously just say that?"
"It wasn't my idea to leave L.A.," David replied, still tugging on Cook's sleeve. "We could have gone home for a bit then. Slept in a bed? Spent Christmas Eve in front of a fire, at least, instead of fighting off that guy who kept falling asleep on you."
"Stop being so sensible," Cook grumbled, once again hitching his guitar up over his shoulder. "I just wanted to get you home; you haven't been there in so long. Well, and I was excited, to be honest. I feel like a proper wife now, coming home with you for Christmas."
David gave Cook a peculiar look as they walked along. "If anyone is the wife--" he started.
"Are you going to imply I'm the clueless husband?" Cook asked, brow raising.
"Well, you did just say I was the sensible one," David pointed out. "So."
"Not only are you sensible, but you use my own words against me. You really are the wife."
"Quiet," David replied, smiling. "Before you've compelled me to bring home a cat or something."
~*~
David checked the time on his phone. The numbers switched to 10:33am and he tried to figure out if he was in the Central or Mountain time zone again.
"Central," Cook informed him when he asked. "All of Oklahoma is."
"Right. Well, I guess 9:30 isn't too early at home to call," David said, beginning to type the number into his phone. "Let Mom know where we are."
"She's going to start thinking we're running away," Cook commented. His brow was scrunched in concentration as he prodded at his iPhone, apparently getting more irritated with the game he was trying to play. "You know she's afraid of that, right? That we're gonna fly off to Sweden or somewhere and get married without anyone knowing."
"Shhh," David hissed, ignoring Cook's comments. "It's ringing."
"Merry Christmas, mijo!" Lupe greeted cheerfully upon answering the phone. "How are you?"
"We're good, Mama," David answered. "We've been in Oklahoma City for a bit now."
"Four hours," Cook interjected, jabbing at his phone. "With no end in sight."
"Oh, David, that's so far!" Lupe exclaimed. David was glad she apparently couldn't hear Cook. "Will you make it for dinner, do you think?"
"I don't know," David answered truthfully. The next route they'd been sent on was to Salt Lake via Oklahoma City, but once they'd arrived it seemed that no one knew when the next flight to SLC might actually be. ("You do know there's a snowstorm going through there, right?" the attendant had said. The look Cook gave the man could have set the building ablaze.) At that point they'd been put on a list that seemed to define the word "wait."
"We have no itinerary yet," David explained to his mother, "but we'll probably be called soon."
"Oh, I do hope you make it," Lupe said. "They say the storm is lightening up a bit, so flights might start coming through. I don't want you to miss breakfast and dinner both."
"We'll try, Mama," David sighed, remembering the cinnamon rolls his mom and sisters always made on Christmas morning. "You're an hour behind us now," he added, "so at least we'll be going back in time when we come."
"We'll save the hour for you," Lupe replied affectionately. "Oh, David, I have to go, Abuelita is here and I must go help her in."
"Of course," David said. "Tell her Merry Christmas for me!"
David hung up the phone and then gazed over at Cook. In four hours time, his boyfriend had relaxed into his seat, having spread himself out across about four chairs, his jacket trailing onto the floor and his feet propped up on the row of seats opposite him. A half-empty coffee cup teetered precariously on the neighboring seat.
"We missed breakfast," David said hollowly.
"Untrue," Cook said, jabbing the screen on his phone forcefully. "I bought you a banana and a bagel in Denver at three this morning."
"I meant Christmas breakfast, Cook," David clarified, a little annoyed. "Cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate with marshmallows."
Cook glanced up from his game, raising an eyebrow. "Do you want a hot chocolate, Archie?"
"No, I just... we were supposed to be there yesterday and now we're stuck here indefinitely on Christmas. And missing everything." David sighed and added, "It's fine. Mom will hold Christmas for us as long as possible. I know she will."
"I do wish I'd had the opportunity to wake up on Christmas morning at the Archuleta homestead," Cook said, his eyes sort of glazing over. "I bet it's like heaven."
David laughed gently. "What is that supposed to mean, exactly?"
"Oh, just that I'm sure it's like every Christmas movie I've ever seen," Cook explained, blinking himself back into reality and turning his attention back to his phone. "Flannel pajamas and hot chocolate and cozy morning kisses..."
"Great, I think you're just making it worse now," David replied, slumping uncomfortably in his seat opposite Cook. "Next you'll be lamenting about building snowmen and giving them button eyes and a corncob pipe or whatever."
"Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves," Cook said, sort of frowning. "Don't forget that snow is the reason we're stuck in a random airport on Christmas Day with no hope of survival. I'm sure we'll be stuck here for the rest of our lives."
For a moment David considered saying that no, he, Cook, was the reason that they were stuck in a random airport on Christmas Day and that he himself would have rather waited out the storm in L.A., but then he thought better of it. Instead, he sunk further into his chair as if he were melting right out of it, and stared at the ceiling, considering the possibility that their first trip out of L.A. had actually ended in a plane crash and they were currently living out an undetermined number of days in purgatory.
He then wondered if their punishment grew longer every time Cook made a scowly face at a ticket agent, which was probably (and seemed to be) true.
His thoughts were interrupted by the public address system overhead crackling to life and a voice announcing quite briskly, "Mr. David Cook, please report to the ticketing counter at Gate C1. David Cook to ticketing counter C1."
The message ended in the same sort of crackle that brought it to life, and David sat up, immediately grabbing all of his things.
"Now be nice," David said as he helped Cook clear up his mess as well. "If you're rude that lady will send us to Siberia or something.
"When am I ever not nice?" Cook inquired, slinging his guitar over his shoulder once again as if he were hiking over the Alps with it. "I am the epitome of a gentleman," he added.
"Oh!" David replied, jabbing Cook in the rib with a finger, attempting to prod him along. "That must be whenever I'm in the bathroom or something. Dang my bladder, making me miss important things like that."
"I could leave you here, you know," Cook joked, giving David a sideways glance. "I'll do it."
"Of course you will," David hummed. "Walk faster, they're calling your name again."
~*~
"St. Louis?! They're gonna have us in Paris by the end of all this," Cook exclaimed, clutching yet another ticket in his hand as he and David walked briskly from one end of the airport to the other.
"Well, that wouldn't be so bad," David replied, trying to ease his boyfriend's nerves. "I think they light up the Eiffel Tower and everything."
"Maybe next year I'll plan that instead and we'll end up stuck in Utah instead of out of it," Cook commented, puffing slightly. The combination of heavy knit sweater and leather jacket wasn't doing him any favors, but he refused to take it off even though David had suggested it several times now. ("I am wearing this sweater!" Cook had declared, pink-faced. "Your mother gave it to me!" "Well, she can't see you right now, can she?" David had answered. "It's the principle of the thing!" Cook had reasoned. "Fine, you're the one sweating to death," David had concluded.)
"If they're going to send us to Missouri, we could at least go to Kansas City," Cook said, nearly crumpling his ticket in annoyance.
"But your family's in New York for Christmas," David reminded him. "What good would that be?"
"I know where the good bars are," Cook answered as if he'd expected the conversation to go this way. "Well, here we are, gate D11."
Much to David's dismay, however, just as Cook leaned lazily against the clerk's counter in order to ease his load, the short, dark-haired woman manning the station flicked on the mic at the desk and spoke into it.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, her voice carrying loudly over the PA. "I regret to inform you that the 1:10pm flight to St. Louis has been--"
David held his breath a moment, afraid of that dreadful word they had already heard repeatedly for two days straight.
"Delayed," she finished, and David sighed in relief. All he wanted at this point was for no more flights to be completely canceled; delayed he could deal with. Cook shot a look at him that was practically piercing.
"I didn't delay it!" David said instantly. "And at least it's not canceled. And," he emphasized, "there is a flight straight to Salt Lake once we get to St. Louis. Remember, the lady told us."
"Oh yes, just like they told us in Phoenix," Cook said, now dragging his plunder to a nearby bank of hard-looking chairs. "And Las Vegas, and Denver and... where are we now?"
"Oklahoma City," David answered evenly.
"And also assuming they aren't all booked like in all those places," Cook continued, "or canceled," he added, "Well. We might just make it for New Year's, I suppose."
David gripped the straps on his backpack tightly, frowning. He too was getting frustrated with the global run around (not to mention sleeping in airport chairs and eating meals consisting of pretzels and badly made sandwiches), but Cook being cranky was really the worst part. Before they had left home he had purposefully told Cook that he loved when they traveled together because it meant that at least he wouldn't be lonely, and had someone to talk to along the way. Given the last two days, however, he was just about ready to retract the sentiment completely.
"We're going to make it," David said, sitting in the seat next to Cook stiffly. "Almost there, practically."
Cook, who had been leaning his elbows against his knees and staring at the floor, looked up and squinted at his companion. "Yeah, if we were coming from Florida," he said. "You're always so positive," he added a second later, a certain amount of pleasantness returning to his voice. "It's pretty annoying."
"Thank you," David said seriously as he leaned back into his seat. He fought the smirk trying to take over his lips.
~*~
"All right, Archie, your go."
"I'm not any good at this at all," David protested, thumbing the crisp playing card in his hand. He squinted at the Chiefs baseball cap that Cook had dug out of his backpack and placed about ten feet in front of them on the floor. He'd lost count of how many cards he'd flung across the room in the last half an hour, not one of them landing in the hat no matter how many different ways he tried. Again he attempted to flip his wrist the way Cook had told him to do, but the card bounced off the bill of the hat and flopped on the floor, the side with the picture of the St. Louis arch facing upward.
"You're getting closer," Cook encouraged, now taking his own turn at it. His card depicting a crude map of the state (and the words, "MISSOURI: The Show-Me State") sailed right into the hat, not even gracing the sides. "Did you see that, Archie? Just like that."
David let his remaining cards fall into his lap. Sighing, he glanced up at the wall clock directly across from them for the ninetieth time in the last ten minutes. The minute hand clicked reluctantly forward to 8:12pm and David glanced over to Cook, who was gazing back at him.
"What's wrong, Archie?" Cook asked, setting his own stack of cards down on the table at his side.
"Oh, this just isn't that fun to me," David admitted, "and it's after eight now, which means we missed dinner and--"
David's phone started ringing suddenly, making him jump in his seat. It hadn't rung in hours, and the sudden blast of his ringtone nearly gave him a heart attack. Glancing at the screen he saw that it was his mom, and he nearly dropped it in his haste to answer.
"Mijo," Lupe said quickly, as if she were hurrying out the door. "How are you? Any news yet?"
"Still in St. Louis," David answered. There was a beep in his ear and glancing quickly at the phone's screen he could see that his battery was about to give out. Cook's had died about an hour and a half prior, and somehow in his infinite wisdom he'd packed the phone chargers into the checked luggage and not the carry-on bags. "Mama, my phone is going to die any second, so--"
"Oh, well, I just wanted to check on you before -- Amber, put your boots on for goodness sake, that snow will ruin those shoes instantly."
"Are you going somewhere?" David asked, as he could now hear shuffling and excitable talking in the background.
"Off for some Christmas caroling," Lupe answered distractedly. "Daniel is going to be our male soloist tonight, it looks like, which scares him to death, of course."
"Oh," David said now, his heart sinking. How he could have forgotten about caroling after dinner, he wasn't sure. Maybe because it didn't seem like Christmas at all anymore, just the typical bustle of airport living like any other day of the year.
"We've still not opened presents yet, David," Lupe was adding over more scuffling, and David was sure she was locking the house now. "We're waiting for you boys to get here."
"Oh Mama, you don't have to--"
David's phone made another protesting wail just before blinking out into the blackness of death. He stared at it angrily a moment before tossing it onto the seat next to him, and looked up at Cook wearily.
"What's up?" Cook asked, flipping one of his cards between his fingers. "Are they going somewhere?"
"Caroling," David answered flatly, his disappointment more than apparent. "I totally forgot."
"Oh, Arch, I'm sorry," Cook replied, his fingers stilling. "I know that's your favorite part. And I'm sorry I'll miss it too."
"You could have been our rock star voice," David said, trying to sound cheerful, but for once it just wasn't working. "They still haven't opened presents yet though. They're waiting for us."
"What?" Cook asked, surprise overtaking his face. "I thought the Archuletas opened their presents first thing in the morning."
"They do," David said, now picking at a loose thread on his shirt sleeve. "Usually."
Cook scrunched his brow. "Well, what the heck are they waiting for us for? They'll be waiting until spring at this rate."
"I tried to tell her, but that's when my phone died."
Cook chewed his lip a moment before saying, "Dang, I wish I hadn't packed your present."
David blinked at him, totally confused. "What?" he said. "What are you talking about?"
"I packed your present in my suitcase," Cook explained, "but I wish I had it now. You look like you could use it."
For some reason David felt a little unnerved by this statement, because knowing his boyfriend this was the kind of thing that could turn into an inappropriate-for-public conversation very quickly.
"Why?" he asked, part of him wishing he didn't dare the question. "What is it?"
"I'm not going to tell you what your present is, silly," Cook laughed. He ran his fingers through his pathetic-looking hair, tugging lightly on the ends. "I was just thinking you could use a round of gifts is all."
"Well, I mailed your present to Mom's house two weeks ago," David replied. "So it doesn't even matter. I couldn't give you yours even if you gave me mine."
"Okay, here's what we're gonna do," Cook announced, suddenly gathering up his jacket and playing cards. "I'm gonna find you a present in this airport if it's the last thing I do. How's that sound?"
David stared at Cook like he was totally out of his mind. "What?" he said. "You're going to what?"
"Buy you a Christmas present," Cook repeated, now scooping up the rest of the cards strewn around the floor and collecting them in his Chiefs cap. "This place isn't exactly the mall, but it'll do. Now you can't come with me, of course, so I'll meet you in an hour at... at the Pretzel Time across the way there."
Before David could answer, Cook leaned in and kissed him quickly, then hitching his guitar onto his back, strode away down the corridor. David watched him until he was out of sight, then sighed. Cook could really be ridiculous sometimes.
~*~
More than a half an hour had passed, and though David had been poking his head into the little book and gift shops all along the corridor, nothing had really struck him as good enough to give to Cook for Christmas. He knew Cook wouldn't even care and definitely wasn't thinking about the possibility of a return gift, but the moral obligation sat heavy in David's chest.
It had occurred to David, however, as he thumbed through souvenir postcard books and magnets shaped like state maps that they were currently stuck in Cook's home state, which to him meant there wasn't really anything special about Missouri that Cook didn't already know about. Still, he wandered along the tight aisles of the gift shop he was in, trying his hardest not to knock things over with his backpack. Most of what lined the shelves was similar to everything he'd seen in the last six shops he'd been in though, so he once again made his way out, smiling nicely to the woman working at the counter.
Checking his watch, David saw that he had ten minutes to get back to where he'd agreed to meet Cook, which was all the way on the other end of the long corridor from where he currently stood. Hiking up his backpack, he started back down the hall, disappointed that he couldn't find even a silly little thing to give to Cook.
He passed by all the little souvenir shops that he'd visited before, giving hopeful last minute glimpses into each one as he hustled by. None of them had seemed to miraculously change in the last hour, which left David feeling more disgruntled the more he went along. Just before he came around the last stretch of hallway however, he passed the little magazine stand that had been crowded the first time he'd gone by. He paused a moment, scanning the racks.
"Can I help you find something, sir?" the man who operated the little stand asked.
David looked up, biting his lip. "Yeah," he said. "Have you got the latest issue of Billboard?"
"Yes, sir," the man answered, grabbing it from a shelf David hadn't skimmed yet. "Came yesterday morning. Anything else for you?"
"No, I think that's--" David started to reach for his wallet, but stopped short as his eyes fell upon a smaller rack on the other side of the man's kiosk. There were a few books that David recognized as current best-sellers. Next to them were a variety of Sudoku and word search puzzle books, and at the very end of the row -- the thickest crossword puzzle book he'd seen in his entire life.
"And this," he said, reaching for the book. The cover advertised "Over a thousand puzzles!" in large red print.
"Excellent choice," the man commented, adding the book to David's total. David quickly paid, thanked the man and then dashed off down the hall, now five minutes late for meeting Cook.
Running in airports was starting to feel natural to David now, along with the feeling of rushing only to be disappointed upon arrival at his destination. Cook was nowhere to be found near the pretzel place, which made David check his whereabouts at least four times to make sure he had gone to the right place. Finally though, he turned to see Cook jogging along the corridor, a huge shopping bag in one hand while he struggled with keeping his guitar under control with the other.
"Sorry I'm late, Arch," Cook breathed, puffing a little. "I got caught up at the other end of the airport."
David smiled at how disheveled his boyfriend looked. Cook's hair stood up in every direction and his shirt collar had flipped up on one side. The sweater he wore over it had gotten a little twisted and David couldn't help but reach out to straighten it.
"It's okay," David assured him, purposefully not telling him that he had lost track of time at his end of the airport as well. "Just so long as you didn't secretly get on a plane out of here without me."
Cook hitched his guitar up on his shoulder and grabbed at David's wrist. "Come on, let's go over here. It looks like that gate over there is closed, there's barely anyone there."
David followed Cook until they'd ducked into a little alcove of a waiting area, occupied only by a man in a business suit hunched in the corner fast asleep, and an older woman knitting a scarf a few seats down from him. David grinned and nodded a hello to the woman, and she smiled back at him fondly.
Cook led David to the far end of the waiting area before letting his guitar slip from his shoulder and leaning it in the corner gap between his chosen seat and the wall. He grabbed for David's backpack and slung it into the corner as well, then turned and pulled David down with him onto the hard bench seat.
"Here," Cook said, immediately pushing his large shopping bag into David's lap. "The best present the St. Louis airport had to offer. I think you're gonna love it."
David let his own small bag drop beside him as he took on Cook's huge purchase. Carefully he pulled the handles apart, and peered inside.
"Well, take it out, Archie, come on!" Cook encouraged, shoving his own hand in there impatiently. He pulled out a large fold of fabric, which immediately began to unfold in front of him. David quickly grabbed for one of the corners, straightening it to discover orange writing spelling out "University of Missouri" across the middle, a fierce-looking tiger snarling underneath.
"You always get cold on flights," Cook explained, "and I know those airplane blankets are never good enough. Then I remembered how you got a crick in your neck when you tried to sleep in that chair in Oklahoma City, so I got you this to go with it..."
Cook dug around in the bag again, this time revealing a neck pillow that also bore the UM logo on one corner. He leaned over and tucked it around David's neck, pushing him back against the wall as if testing to make sure it worked properly. He then draped the blanket over David's chest and tucked it loosely around his arms.
"Well?" he asked, one hand squeezing David's thigh. "Comfy?"
David actually did feel pretty comfortable, given he'd started to get used to the hard seating in airports.
"I feel sleepy already," he said, slouching a little against the wall. "Thank you. It's the best airport Christmas present I've ever gotten."
Cook laughed and then leaned in to give David a quick kiss. He wasn't completely certain, but he could have sworn that he saw the knitting lady glance up at them briefly and then quickly look back down at her knitting, grinning. It always made him feel a little awkward when people looked at him from across rooms, almost especially when they didn't say anything to him but rather just looked, not to mention that his boyfriend had just kissed him which had definitely turned awkward more than once in public.
"Oh, I... I got you something," David suddenly remembered as he sat up. "It's not... it's not as good, but--"
"You didn't have to do that," Cook said predictably. David picked up the small bag at his side and thrust it at Cook, a little embarrassed by its total lack of creativity.
"Hmm," Cook hummed, pulling out the Billboard magazine. "If it weren't for the fact that we have these coming to our house every week already..."
"Oh!" David exclaimed, grabbing the magazine out of Cook's grasp. "Sorry, that was for me. It's the other thing."
Cook grinned at David before peering into the bag. He let out a sharp, barking laugh before reaching in to extract the crossword book.
"Oh my God, Arch," Cook declared, still laughing. "Ha ha, this is the best airport Christmas present I've ever gotten. A thousand puzzles! Where was this when we were waiting for hours on end all day?" He flipped open the book and started scanning the clues on a random puzzle. "This is a good one even! Challenging clues without being too difficult. Thanks, Arch, I love it."
Again Cook turned to give David a kiss, this one lasting a bit longer. "I'm glad you like it," David said quietly against Cook's lips. "But I don't wanna find them strewn all over the living room because you get stuck."
Cook laughed and replied, "I promise."
David pulled his new blanket up over his chest, tucking it a little around his sides. His eyes fell across the room to where the knitting woman still worked away on her scarf, barely looking at it as she did so. As if she could sense his gaze, she glanced up and caught his eye. Again she smiled brightly at him and he smiled to her in return. Beyond where she sat the little alcove opened up into floor-to-ceiling windows, and David could see out onto the runway. Men in orange safety vests skittered about, waving their flashlights at one another and hauling equipment from one place to another. The fall of darkness had also brought rain with it, and David became temporarily distracted by the trickles of water coming down the glass, reflecting the runway lights in crooked streaks.
"So this is Christmas," he said, absently. He felt the disappointment of missing the day sink into his stomach. "And what have we done?"
Cook, who had rested his hand on David's thigh, suddenly jolted next to him.
"Archie, of course," he said, now grabbing at his guitar and pulling it towards himself. "For once your jukebox brain saves the day."
"What?" David asked, now looking back at his boyfriend. Cook had opened the case, pulled out his guitar and was plucking at the strings, making minor adjustments to the tuning. "What'd I say?"
"Oh, please," Cook replied. "Don't tell me you've moved on to not even realizing when you're quoting songs now. Your subconscious is starting to scare me."
David was still baffled by Cook's comment when the latter began strumming something that sounded awfully familiar. Trying to think of what it was, David looked away as people do when they're thinking, as if they expect the answer to be written on the wall opposite them or something. The knitting woman paused in her work, letting her hands fall into her lap just as Cook began to sing.
"And so this is Christmas
And what have you done?
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you had fun
The near and the dear ones
The old and the young
A very merry Christmas
And a happy new year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear..."
Cook's voice echoed through the empty terminal, sending shivers through David's body. He always felt this way when Cook sang, but there was something in the spirit of it in this moment that made him actually feel like it was finally Christmas. There was no snow, no Christmas tree, and no hot chocolate. His mom wasn't handing our presents or serving them dinner, and no caroling had happened. But somehow, right now, in this deserted airport terminal, it had arrived.
At the end of the song, applause erupted all around them, and a couple people whooped and whistled. Only then did David realize that people who had been passing slowed and stopped to listen to Cook's song. Cook seemed unphased by them however, and looked back at David, leaned close to him and whispered into his ear.
"Happy Christmas," Cook said, his nose brushing David's ear. "I don't think I said that today."
"You didn't," David replied, leaning into Cook as well. "But I assumed you didn't know what day it was anyway. Besides, at midnight we were racing to our next canceled flight in Denver."
"It doesn't matter anyway," Cook said, now squeezing David's knee with his free hand. "Every day with you is like Christmas."
David didn't have time to respond before his lips were met with Cook's in a soft, tender kiss that went on for ages. Cook distractedly let his guitar go at his side and his fingers snaked into David's hair when somewhere in the distance the announcement was made: "Flight 1215 to Salt Lake City, now boarding at Gate B6."
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