Here's my addition to the holiday-fic pile, lol.
Background: Derek's playing hockey, Casey's in med school. Read along for the rest
Part 1
"I'm coming for you."
"No. You're not."
"I'm already at the airport, you ass." Casey slammed her passport down onto the counter—paused—and then looked up apologetically at the airport attendant, "Oh, um, sorry, not you; my brother."
"Close family, huh?" The attendant said, taking it with a smirk.
Casey rolled her eyes. "You have no idea."
"…not your brother," Derek was grumbling on the other line when she pulled the phone back to her ear.
"Yeah, yeah, you're preaching to the choir here. It's just short hand. And, don't worry, nobody here knows you, so your precious reputation won't be soiled."
She huffed, brows furrowed, as she scoured her purse for her ticket.
"Stopping looking through that ginormous purse; turn around, and go. Back. Home."
"My purses are not ginormous-"
"Ma'am," the attendant tried to interject.
"And, I'm not leaving you alone in that cabin like some wounded puppy for Christmas."
"That's just the problem," Derek growled, "I'm not a puppy; I'm a man."
"More like a baby with a credit card and a fridge full of beer."
"Speaking of credit cards," the attendant said more loudly, leaning over the counter, "I'll need yours. And, your ticket."
"Oh, right, right," Casey blurted, face scrunched sheepishly as she cradled her cell between her cheek and her shoulder, and rummaged through her bag. She tried to ignore the attendant's tapping fingers, the growing grumblings behind her, and Derek's series of rants. Then…finally. "Here you go," she sighed, "Again, I'm so-"
The attendant cut her off with a curt nod, yanking away her I.D.s.
"Right. I'll just, uh, stop talking then."
"Now that would be a Christmas miracle."
Casey sighed. "Derek, I'll call you back later."
"Perfect. From the privacy of your *own* home, I'm hoping?"
"I'll see you in a few hours," she said tightly. "At the airport."
"I'm *not* picking you up."
She huffed. "Then how-"
Click.
That dumba--
"Merry Christmas," the attendant said dryly, holding out her ticket sleeve.
Casey accepted it with a tight smile.
*
The thing about Derek these days was that she really didn't know whether he'd pick her up or not. She'd even caught herself pausing for a good twenty seconds by the rental car station before finally sighing, and trudging towards the baggage line in defeat.
If he really doesn't show, she'd finally decided, I'm gonna kick him in the face.
She was flexible enough for that to be a threat.
*
"So let me get this straight," Emily said, "He *still* doesn't want you there?"
"Yes," Casey said, fidgeting in the waiting area seat.
"And, you still bought the plane ticket…"
"Yes."
"Even as he berated you on the phone and swore on his nana's grave he wouldn't pick you up?"
"Um…" she chewed her bottom lip, "Yup?"
"Casey!"
"Well, it just sounds bad when you say it like that."
"What? You mean rationally?"
Casey decided it was in her best interest not to answer that. So, instead, she took another approach. "Em," she said softly, pleadingly, "He's hurt and he's alone."
Emily was silent. And, when she offered her own soft sigh, Casey knew she was winning her over.
As much as the "wounded puppy" label annoyed Derek, Casey couldn't think of any better description for him this year. After a humiliating loss, Derek had sprained his wrist trying to rearrange a referee's face. His Christmas gift from the league? A whopping fine, an indefinite suspension, and enough disparaging newspaper clippings to decorate a home.
Derek had been, naturally, pissed. And, instead of coming home to his family and coping like a normal person, he'd rented some ridiculous cabin in Colorado—and bought a fridge full of beer.
Marti, Nora, and Casey had engaged in all sorts of feminine warfare—cookies, crying fits, knitted sweaters—to persuade him to come home. When he'd finally stopped answering their phone calls, Casey resorted to plan Z: threatening to come for Christmas. The plan had, obviously, backfired. They'd ended up playing a game of 'chicken', until finally, in a moment of desperation, Casey found herself actually purchasing a ticket online with Derek shouting at her on the phone.
Now, here she was: waiting in a cold, crowded airport to fly to an even colder cabin in the middle of nowhere—all because he wouldn't back down. She couldn't count on two hands all the things she wasn't looking forward to this holiday. But, every time she pictured Derek alone, in some empty, beer-infested cabin on Christmas day, something in her chest pulled. Pulled in that place only he'd ever found access to, and it annoyed her to no avail.
"I know it's crazy, and neither of us want me there," Casey finally said, "But I'm going anyway."
*
Waiting at the baggage claim, weighed down by bags, she felt the tightness start in her chest, then her throat.
He's really not here.
She felt a lot less like kicking in his face. A lot more my crying.
"You're really here."
Casey turned instantly to that voice, that annoying voice she'd recognize anywhere, and, shit, there he was.
"Shit," Derek said aloud.
*
He looked different.
He looked, well, really good.
She hadn't seen him much over the last few years, with her starting med school, and him taking his shot at the pros. There'd been phone calls, and texts, and a few prank gifts—neither of them would admit it, but they didn't do the whole 'apart from each other' thing well. So, it's not like that they'd lost touch or anything. It was just…he was here, in front her, up close. So close she could touch those wild curls of his hair, pinch the light stubble of his cheeks, punch the chest that had filled out so much since high school.
So close she could do those things. Not that she would, of course. Neither of them had touched, or really said anything since their eyes had met at the baggage claim. Casey, for her part, was having a little trouble not staring, or smiling—although she resisted the latter—and he was watching her with this veiled, but intense look.
"You just can't take a hint, can you?" he finally asked, frowning as he closed the space between them.
Casey forced herself to stop staring at him and half-shrugged. "I think me standing here, in Colorado, should answer that question."
The corner of his mouth quirked just slightly, but never touched a smile. "Well, I hope you booked a hotel."
Her eyes narrowed. "Derek."
"Because there's no way in hell you're staying with me."
He turned on his heel and started walking away, and Casey huffed, groaned under the weight of her bags, and followed after him. "Aren't you going to help?" she whined.
"I think me standing here, not helping you, should answer that question."
Unbelievable.
*
"Put your legs into it; you might pull something," Derek was coaching her as they reached his jeep.
She answered him with a steely glare.
"What?" He asked, leaning cavalierly against the trunk, "Where's your Christmas spirit?"
She gasped, the bags dropping to a thud on the snow beside her, and stomped towards him, the points of her leather boots stabbing the ground. Derek watched the slow, determined march bemusedly, his brows climbing his forehead. "You. Are. Such. An Ass," she grit out, shoving her finger into his chest with each word.
"And, you are a delusional princess."
"Excuse me?"
He opened the trunk.
"You come out here—uninvited—force me to pick you up from the airport like I have nothing better to do-"
"You don't," interjected.
"And, of course, bring the pinkest, girliest one ton bags you can find-"
"They're Ralph Lauren."
"And, expect me to be your chauffeur, or something."
"Well, excuse me for expecting common decency from you."
"You're unexcused." He was in front of her now, only a few inches between them, and he reached over and yanked a wool winter cap over her head. "And, it's Colorado, for god's sake; not California."
He tugged gingerly, so that it shielded her ears and cheeks, and her head flooded with warmth, then her chest, because damnit—he always slipped in sweet things while being an ass. "And, please tell me you have something more functional than those J-Lo boots?"
She bristled. "Are there any other complaints you'd like to make about my outfit, or my luggage, or my personality?"
He folded his arms. "That depends on how much time ya got, sweetheart."
She leaned and in growled, "All Christmas break."
His eyes flickered and it was like he was angry with her—which she expected—but also something else she couldn't quite pin. Finally, he grunted and headed for the front seat.
"Don't think I'm even touching those bags," he called over his shoulder.
"Fine!" she cried back, "I'm a modern, independent woman and all that other stuff Beyonce says. I can do this."
Derek ignored her, starting the engine in response, and Casey breathed a determined breath.
I can do this.
"I can do this!" she cried, grunting as she finally got the second bag into the trunk.
When she made it to the front seat, Derek was waiting with that damn smirk of his—and, no, she hadn't, like, missed it, or anything.
"I hate you," she hissed at him.
He looked unimpressed. "Right. It's your hatred for me that got you on a plane to Colorado to come see me."
She punched him in the chest. Hard. He didn't even blink. Then, like some freak force of nature, she was in his arms, having lunged towards him almost instinctively. Her arms clasped firmly round his shoulders, her face in his neck, his hands awkwardly frozen on her sides. Derek tensed, yet didn't pull away, so they both let it last for a while.
When she pulled back, his eyes were wide with surprise.
"We haven't seen each other in a year," she breathed.
"But…we were fighting."
"We're always fighting."
He shook off the residual speechless, "…Well, I still don't want you here."
"I still don't want to be here. We're in freaking Colorado, you ass."
"Good."
"Good."
She shifted from where she was still sort of halfway on top of him and back in to her seat. He buckled up.
Her cheeks were slightly flushed—although she was trying to ignore that—and when he put the car in reverse, she automatically blurted, "Your wrist. Can you drive?"
"No, I teleported here." He rolled his eyes. "I'm injured, not handicapped, Casey."
Her face scrunched softly. "Does it hurt?"
"No, it feels like little bursting rainbows up and down my wrist."
She sighed, letting her eyes drift out the window. This was obviously a sore subject in more than one sense. "I'll just shut up and let you drive then," she muttered.
"Thank you."
*
"Oh, oh, stop driving!"
When Derek ignored her, Casey reached for the wheel, forcing him into a wild—but thankfully, non-fatal—swerve. He huffed as the car came to a screeching stop on the sideroad. ""What the hell, Case? What, is your gift to make me a ghost for Christmas?"
"Pfft—like I got you a gift." She rolled her eyes. "That's Tommy's Tacos!"
Derek looked at her for a long, baffled moment. She looked back, expectantly.
"…I feel like this is important to you somehow," he said, "But, I just can't bring myself to care."
"That used to be your favorite restaurant back home, remember?"
Derek squinted. "Well, considering that it's my life and I don't have amnesia, yeah, I do."
"Great!" She grinned. "Then let's grub."
"What, they stopped feeding people in Canada or something? We're twenty minutes from the cabin, let's just hurry back."
"But-But…" Casey felt her face falling unexpectedly as she whispered, "It's your favorite."
"I guess it was," he said quietly, shrugging slightly. "But, I'm not hungry."
"But you're always hungry."
"Not right now." His face was creasing with frustration. "Is there a point to all this?"
"Yes," she said with determination, "You're buying me lunch."
"Why?" he whined.
"Because you need to be happy, whether you're happy about it or not."
*
Casey had had to literally drag him into the restaurant—including a not so dignified wrestling match outside the car. But, eight minutes—and a messed up hairdo later—they were entering Tommy's Tacos.
"Welcome to Tommy's Tacos," The hostess said, grinning, "Would you two lovebirds like a booth?"
"We're not love birds," Casey said instantly
The hostess watched them quizzically. Casey's arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, so he couldn't escape, and Derek had her in an awkward hold, too, trying to pry her off.
"Yeah, and can we get a to-go menu, maybe?" Derek grumbled.
"Uh…"
"No, no, we'll take the booth," Casey said, flashing her brightest smile.
"Um…" The hostess blinked. "Sure, follow me."
*
"Our knees keep brushing," Derek grumbled, "I hate this."
"Well, I hate it, too," Casey cried back. "I've always hated this restaurant. It's tacky, they serve nothing but meat, and the tacos smell funny."
He huffed. "Then why are we here?"
"That's-that's not the point."
"Like there's ever a point with you," Derek groaned, letting his head fall into his hands.
Casey sighed. Okay, so maybe the whole hostile kidnapping and force-feeding at Tommy's wasn't her best idea, but she'd been desperate. And—as her decision to buy an overpriced ticket to Colorado proved—she didn't make great snap-decisions.
She rolled her eyes as their knees brushed—again.
"Why are you so fidgety?" she asked.
"Why are you so annoying?"
"I'm trying to help."
"What about beating me down in a public parking lot is 'helpful'?"
"Okay, A) thank you for noticing I've been working out. And, B) it's not good to be alone for the holidays."
Derek moaned and slumped back in his seat. "Here we go again."
But, Casey persisted, leaning over the small table. "It's totally understandable that you'd take the suspension hard, that maybe it bruised your ego a little-"
Derek shot up a hand, making the sound of a screeching record. "Okay, that's enough. You can force me to let you stay with me, you can force me to feed you, but you cannot force me to listen to this psychobabble."
"It's not psychobabble," Casey said indignantly, "I'm concerned about you."
"And, I'm concerned about how unbearable you are."
She ignored him, reaching over for his hand, almost unconsciously, and just as instinctively he pulled away, winching.
"Derek," she whispered.
"It's fine," he mumbled. "It's healing."
"Well, let me see it," she said softly.
"No."
"Why not?'
"Because it's my life," he said, voice rising now, "And, I'd prefer if you didn't try to force yourself into every crevice of it."
Casey winched.
When she felt her back press back into leather, she realized she'd recoiled, too. She stared studiously at the salsa jaw, swallowing. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
Derek was silent for a moment, but she could see his torso shifting uncomfortably in her periphery. Finally, he sighed. "Let's just eat."
*
That's it for now. Please let me know what you think.