A/N: Secret Santa request number 2. Chris/Christian for the wonderful BellaHickenbottom. I hope you like it. Rated T. :)
"Christmas, my child, is love in action."
~ Dale Evans (1912-2001), American film actress, singer and songwriter.
Home For Christmas
Christian walked as quickly as he could without running, a bit afraid that his footing would slip against the ice-slicked pavement and send him falling onto his skinny ass. His breath puffed out in white wisps against the crisp, winter air, which swirled with big flakes of wet snow. It was freezing. He pulled his hat down further over his ears, at the moment not really caring that he probably looked ridiculous with it on, complete with a little furry ball bouncing at the top of it. He picked up his pace, praying the tread on his shoes would help out his rapid footsteps. He had to be quick, or he was going to miss his flight, and on Christmas Eve!
If Vince would give them leave a day or two before, there wouldn't have to be all this frantic rushing around in which people left things behind in their hotel rooms, or forgot packages in cabs, or slipped on the nasty pavement and broke their ass. Please don't let that happen. He couldn't very well be the ECW Champion with a cracked rear end, limping around like someone had pounded him into a mattress with all the force of a roaring freight train. Christian laughed at the mental image, and shivered. If possible, it was actually getting colder. At least he was close to the airport now, and soon would be inside the warmth of it with all those bustling bodies. Soon he'd be home, the cats greeting him with happy meows, weaving in and out of his legs, as the twinkling lights on the palm tree outside his Tampa, FL, home blinked against the pink and orange sunset.
He rubbed his hands together and cupped them, blowing into them as he moved, because he'd misplaced his gloves somewhere. He hit a slick patch and skidded, but managed to keep his footing as his legs splayed, and he thought he probably looked like a long legged calf, just newly born and trying to figure out how to stand up. He straightened up, and let out a sigh of relief that he was still standing. He took a few cautious steps, as people milled and passed by him, and then reached for the handle on the glass door. Something in the reflection however, caught his eye, and he turned around to see if what he thought was a familiar glimpse in the glass was. Yeah, it was, he would know that face anywhere.
It was the face of his colleague, long time friend, on-again-off-again-lover, and next door neighbor Chris Irvine. Christian's lips kicked up into a small smile. He glanced at the face of his phone, noting that his quick power-walk had gave him just a bit more time to play with than he'd expected. He'd have to make it quick though, just a Merry Christmas and wishes for a safe flight. After all, he and Chris might even be on the same flight to Tampa, and if not they'd see each other when they got home.
Christian went over to the bench where Chris was sitting, minding to walk around that slick spot that had almost done him in. As he got closer, his smile faltered. Chris' elbows were on his knees and he was leaning his chin in his hands. The expression on his face was anything but happy. His lips were curled down into a frown, his fair brows pulled together, his eyes wet and glassy, his nose and cheeks red and wind-burned. Christian dropped down onto the bench next to Chris, who was idly kicking the toe of his boot against the small black wheel on his luggage. Chris sniffled, and straightened up, rubbing one of his hands against his eyes which Christian noted were pink.
"Hey Jerko." Christian teased, nudged Chris in the side with his elbow. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Chris muttered. He glanced at Christian with his watery blue eyes and then wiped at them again. "Just cold."
"It's colder than a well diggers wang." Christian agreed. "But I know that's not all that has you frowning like you got a big lump of reindeer shit in your stocking."
"You have such a way with words." Chris grumped. "Don't you have a flight to catch?" He resumed his former position, leaning on his knees and looking lost and mopey and hopeless, like a child who just discovered his 'From Santa' gifts stuffed in his parent's closet.
"Don't you?" Christian asked, concerned now because Chris' eyes were leaking again and he knew that despite being an epic whiner, Chris hated to cry in front of anyone.
"No." He sighed, the monosyllabic word wavering on his emotional voice.
Christian chewed at his lips, wondering if something was wrong between Chris and Jessica. They'd had their fair shares of ups and downs, and times when one or both of them were to the point of calling it quits. Even so, they'd always recovered in the end and loved each other just as much despite whatever stupid thing Chris had done once again…unlike Christian and his wife who had finally split shortly after he'd re-signed with the WWE. Denise just couldn't handle him being back on the road so much, and things weren't the same, and now it was just Christian and his four cats taking up space in the house. He wanted to ask Chris, and yet he didn't want to upset him further. After a bit more consideration, he squeezed Chris' shoulder.
"What's wrong?"
Chris rolled his face into his hands and made a grumbling sound.
"I'm stupid. I'm an idiot. I can't believe this had to happen on Christmas Eve damn it!"
Chris got up to his feet, and half-heartedly kicked his luggage. The black bag fell over into the wet nastiness that the weather had spewed and puddled onto the ground. Chris stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat and this time didn't bother to wipe the streams that leaked down his cheeks.
"I can't find my plane ticket. It was in my wallet…I…I don't know I've looked everywhere! Flights are fully booked...there's no way I'm gonna make it home." He sat back down on the bench, blinking and watching the tears smatter onto his jeans.
"I miss my kids, my family…there are so many moments that I miss out on. Every time I see them it seems like years have passed." Chris smeared the sleeve of his coat under his nose. "My daughters asked Santa to make sure Daddy was home for Christmas. Jessica cried when she told me. I haven't even called them and told them yet that I'm not coming. I just…can't think of how to tell them."
Christian's heart sank down to his toes, and what he didn't think was possible happened: he felt even colder, and not just on his cheeks, his exposed fingers, and the tip of his nose, but inside where even the biting winter wind couldn't reach it's frozen fingers.
He imagined Chris's children, his son and twin girls with their curly corn-husk hair, all pressing their small faces and hands against the window. The tiny trio was excitedly waiting up for the sound of a car in the driveway rather than reindeer hooves against the roof, on their toes to see their Daddy walking towards the door with his suitcase, rather than jolly old Saint Nick sliding down the chimney with his bag of toys.
He could see their wide smiles, their glimmering eyes, and rosy cheeks, and then he imagined Jessica turning away from the window. She pressed her phone to her ear, eager to hear her husband's voice and knowing soon it would be whispering against her ear via his lips rather than the cold plastic of a lifeless phone…only her smile melted away. When she closed the phone she was battling tears, and she pulled the children away from the window as she tried to figure out, much the same way Chris was trying now, how to tell them that Daddy wasn't coming home.
Chris got up, and grabbed the handle of his luggage.
"Merry Christmas, Christy." He said blandly, before heading off towards a yellow cab that had pulled up. "At least they still had a room left at the hotel."
"Chris, hey wait!" Christian dashed after him, now not caring about the ice and salt sliding under his feet. He stopped Chris by grabbing his elbow. "Chris…"
Christian sealed his lips to Chris's and then pressed something into the palm of his hand. He pulled away and watched with a soft smile as Chris looked down at the slip of paper in his hand. It was Christian's plane ticket. His cobalt eyes flicked upwards, and searched Christians face.
"Are you sure?" He asked quietly, a little unsure that Christian was really offering him a trip home.
"Yeah. All I have waiting for me are the cats. Go home Chris. Go to your family." He pressed another quick kiss to Chris' quivering lips. "Don't cry you idiot, go!"
He nudged Chris forwards.
"Hurry or you'll miss my flight!" Christian called after Chris as he nearly ran inside, with the biggest smile on his face Christian had ever seen. Christian's could have matched his, his ears were hurting with the girth of his grin, and there might have even been tears rimming his eyes. "Merry Christmas, Chris." He said quietly, and headed towards the cab.