The hotel is dark and cold. Douglas has been trying to sleep for hours, propped against a chest of drawers in a tiny room with his legs getting stiffer by the second. He shifts uncomfortably, wincing as his knees crack, glancing across the room at Carolyn. She's perched on the bedside table with her hands clasped between her knees, eyes on Arthur. Arthur is sleeping in the only bed, bundled in so many blankets that he looks like a turkey.

"How's he doing?" Douglas murmurs. He gives up on sleep altogether, getting to his feet and drawing his coat, which he'd been using for a blanket, closer around his shoulders.

"Better." Carolyn's voice is hoarse.

Douglas reaches the foot of the bed and stands there; there isn't anywhere to sit. Herc is asleep on the one armchair – he'd offered it to Carolyn a hundred times, but she'd refused. Douglas thinks that Herc gave in, not because it's Carolyn – if anyone knows how to persuade Carolyn, it's Herc – but because he'd known that she had no intention of sleeping.

Herc shifts, letting out a grunting wheeze.

Douglas smirks. "Does he always snore?"

Carolyn shoots him a glare. "None of your business."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Oh…shut up."

There's silence for a few moments.

"He'll be fine," Douglas says, and then wishes that he hadn't. They all know Arthur's going to be fine. Saying it just makes it sound like he's not sure. "It's only the flu."

"I know." Carolyn shudders. "I know, but if Herc hadn't-"

"He did."

Martin slides another inch forward from the wall he's propped against, Herc's jacket round his shoulders because Arthur has all the blankets and Martin shivers in an English June, let alone a Norwegian December. Herc shifts again. He's taller than Douglas – not that Douglas would admit it – and his legs come well over the neat curve of the chair arm. One of his socks wrinkles down his ankle and hangs half-off in front of Martin's face. Douglas reaches over and gently slides it off Herc's foot, dropping it to the floor before it can tickle Martin's nose and wake him up.

He knows Carolyn is looking at him, but she doesn't say anything.

The flight was long. They were always long, but this one was particularly so. Herc was with them, because they were flying on Christmas Eve – again – and Herc said he wanted to be with Carolyn. Douglas asked him if he'd suffered a concussion recently, and Herc laughed.

Christmas flights were usually eventful so long as Arthur was present, but Arthur was strangely subdued, no matter how much Carolyn tried to placate him by saying that they would definitely get Christmas dinner in Norway. He didn't even complain when he ended up with the electric company in monopoly.

Arthur was coughing at the beginning of the flight, but no-one thought anything of it until they were halfway and Arthur started shivering and retching. By the time they landed, the full-blown flu had developed, and Arthur was bundled in safety blankets with lemon tea at one elbow, Carolyn on the other, and a disgruntled expression.

He took it rather well at first – Arthur rarely took anything badly. He said things like, "well I guess it's an adventure" and "at least it's happening now – then I can be better for Christmas when we land." Carolyn smiled and told him that he would definitely be fine for Christmas; Herc found a movie that Arthur liked and stuck it in his pocket to watch at the hotel if they could; Martin and Douglas and landed the plane without too many bumps. Arthur was sweaty and feverish, but they were all there to help him down the plane steps and through the icy landing field, still wrapped in an emergency blanket. It was snowing and the wind blew sleet their faces like it was trying to fight them, but they all took comfort in the thought that they would be inside and warm.

Carolyn got the phone call just as they reached the airport. The hotel she'd booked had a lost part of its roof. It was leaking, and possibly unsafe. No, there was no way they could stay. Yes, they would get a full refund. No, there was no alternative accommodation arranged.

The air nipped Douglas's nose bright pink and made Arthur shake as they hovered, undecided, at the edge of the airfield.

"This is no good," Douglas said, wishing that he'd brought a second pair of gloves to put over the ones he was wearing. He hadn't thought they'd be in the open for more than ten minutes. "We need somewhere to stay. Somewhere with proper heating."

"It's Christmas Eve," Carolyn murmured. "Everywhere will be booked."

"We can try," Martin said, teeth chattering. His coat looked too thin for the weather. "There must be somewhere with a cancellation – even if we have to share rooms…"

Herc nodded. "There'll be a dozen places to stay around here. We'll all split up – go asking in person. Carolyn, you stay in the airport with Arthur."

"I'm perfectly capable of going-"

"I know," Herc said and put a hand on her arm, and that was that. Carolyn and Arthur went inside the draughty airport. Douglas, Herc and Martin crossed the busy road and then split up, each taking a different street and heading down it in search of places to stay.

Rendezvous was half an hour later at the airport, and Douglas trudged there despondently after twenty-five minutes, hoping that Herc – he didn't put much trust in Martin's luck – had had better fortune.

His heart sank when he entered the chilly waiting area, only to see Herc already there and Carolyn looking worried – or at least, as worried as Carolyn would ever let herself look.

"Nothing?" she said.

Doulas shook his head. "It's Christmas. Everywhere's full. Herc?"

"Not for love nor money."

Douglas sighed. "How're you holding up, Arthur?"

Arthur hummed noncommittally, which as far as Arthur's complaints went, was the equivalent of 'everything is awful and I hate it'.

"There's still Martin," Douglas said, sitting next to Arthur and giving him a quick pat on the shoulder.

The looks Carolyn and Herc exchanged said what they all thought of Martin's chances.

The airport was noisy and smelled of sweat, and it was cold. Douglas found himself rubbing his hands together as he stared blankly at the automatic doors. Every time someone went through them another gust of air rushed into the room and made Arthur wince. The chatter and bustle drove deeper and deeper into Douglas's exhausted brain; the chatter of people on phones and the pound of footsteps rattled in his skull like someone was beating a drum.

A family settled down not far from them, the children crying shrilly in a language Douglas didn't understand.

"I wish they would be quiet," Arthur muttered.

It was hardly like Arthur to complain. Douglas cocked an eyebrow at Carolyn, and although she just shrugged, her face was pale. Arthur might be a grown man, but Carolyn was still his mother and Hell, even Douglas was a little bit worried about him. It wasn't like Arthur to be so quiet, and the cold of the airport was making him shiver more.

The shrill family – thank God – decamped of their own accord to the vending machine after ten minutes.

Douglas checked his watch. "Martin's late."

Herc looked up from the Norwegian magazine he was trailing through with a less-than-contented expression. "Give him five more minutes. It'll take him that long to get across that pig of a road outside."

Five more minutes felt like a lifetime. Douglas slid down the cold metal seat and tipped his head back until his neck ached. His daughter would be in bed by now. She always got excited for Christmas, even though she said she was getting too old for it.

Carolyn shifted. "Is that Martin?"

They swivelled in their seats – everyone apart from Arthur, who just continued to shiver – to see Martin waving at them from the front entrance. He was grinning.

"My God," Douglas said, getting to his feet. "Don't tell me he's actually found somewhere."

Martin waved again. Hastily, they bundled up their things and hurried to the front entrance, pulling Arthur after them.

"Have you found somewhere?" Carolyn said.

"Sort of." Martin's cheeks were flushed with cold. The wind had picked up, and the ground was icy underfoot. "I mean it's not the most fancy place in the world and it's Christmas, it'll be expensive-"

"Right now, I couldn't care less," Carolyn said, and Douglas couldn't bring himself to make a remark. "Where is it?"

"Not far." Martin pointed across the road to a tiny alleyway. "Down there. The thing is…there's only one room left."

"What?"

"One room, for all of us. It's Christmas – that's all they have left. I tried to get another – I really, really tried, but-"

Douglas opened his mouth to tell Martin that it didn't matter; that they were cold and tired and that anywhere with four walls not made of white metal and an entranceway that didn't open every two minutes sounded the best thing in the world.

Something moved. Douglas turned his head and saw Arthur, still wrapped in blankets, shivering and snotty and unattended, slip on a patch of ice, lose his balance and stumble.

Towards the road. The one that they'd had to wait five minutes before crossing to search for hotels, because despite the snow and the ice and this was an airport, and airports were busy.

Douglas tried to move his arm, tried to use the second he had left before Arthur went straight into the path of the flashing headlights and roaring engines. He knew that he wasn't going to get there in time.

Herc's hand came out of nowhere, hooking into the wad of emergency blankets and t-shirts and pulling. Arthur staggered back onto the pavement as a truck roared past, blaring its horn.

The wind pounds on the window like it's going to break it. Douglas tries not to think about the rush of air from the speeding truck, the strangled yelp Arthur had made as Herc grabbed him. Tries not think about how that rush of air and blast of horn could have been something much, much worse.

Herc lets out another snore. Douglas kicks the sock away and rolls out his shoulders, pulling his coat more closely around himself and wishing that he had more space to stretch. The only good thing about the tiny room is that it's warm with five of them jammed into it – there's a radiator in the corner, but either it needs bleeding or the heating is on timer, because it's not on. Body is heat is sweaty and a little bit disgusting, but it's effective.

The clock reads 00:03 in bright green digital letters.

"Merry Christmas," Douglas says wryly.

Carolyn's mouth twitches. "You should be asleep."

"So should you."

Neither of them move. The clock reaches 00:10.

"Sleep," Carolyn says. "You have to get your allotted hours."

"We're not flying until the evening. We have the room til three."

"I know. Just…you shouldn't be awake. Arthur will be fine tomorrow," Carolyn says, and Douglas knows they're both thinking of that rushing air, that blaring horn. "He's had the flu before. It hits him hard, but he recovers quickly."

"That's good," Douglas murmurs. "He won't miss Christmas."

They sit and stand in the dark together for a long time before Douglas goes back to his chest of drawers.

The morning brings light. Not much light, because it's winter and dawn likes to take its sweet time, but enough that Douglas wakes up and feels the sun on his face.

He blinks. In front of him, Arthur is sitting up in bed. He's snivelly-nosed and still coughing, but there's no more fever and the first words Douglas hears him say are "is it Christmas still?"

"Yes," Carolyn says. "You haven't missed it."

"Arthur!" Herc says, coming out of the bathroom with toothpaste on the corner of his mouth. "How are you this morning?"

"Mum says that I haven't missed Christmas!"

"Indeed you haven't," Herc says. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

Herc says it so sincerely, in exactly the way Douglas has been thinking all night, that Arthur looks rather baffled.

"I was just the flu," he says.

Carolyn wipes the toothpaste away from the corner of Herc's mouth with her sleeve. Douglas knows that she thinks he's still asleep, because she pecks Herc on the cheek too.

Arthur spots the snow drifting past the window and shouts "White Christmas!". Martin shoots awake, clunking his head on the windowsill.

Douglas takes the quickest shower of his life because there are three other people waiting to use the bathroom after him. He comes out with his hair still soapy to find Arthur perched on the table Carolyn had spent the night on, staring out of the window.

"I'm glad you're alright, Arthur."

Arthur turns his head. "People keep saying that – Herc and Mum, and Skip whilst you were in the shower." He has an odd expression on his face, the kind he gets when he misses the point of a conversation and has to wait for someone to explain it to him. "It was just the flu."

Douglas wonders if he should tell him about the airport and the road, but then he decides that it's Christmas and, if Arthur doesn't remember, Douglas doesn't want to ruin it for him.

"We were just worried," he says instead. "We care about you, Arthur."

Arthur grins. "Well, I know that!"

The sound of Martin singing 'Jingle Bells' filters through the bathroom door. Douglas chalks 'carolling' up under the mental list he has of 'things Martin is bad at'.

It's an odd Christmas. The hotel room seems a lot smaller once everyone is up and about and in various stages of dress, strewing socks and hairbrushes and nose clippers – really Martin? Even after Boston?. There's definitely too much furniture for such a tiny space and Douglas stubs his toe far too many times. None of them have presents because they're all still in the hold and they were going to go back for them once they got Arthur into the warm hotel, but had never got round to it. Even without presents, Arthur's so excited that it starts to rub off on everyone else.

Douglas gets a call from Sophie thanking him for the video games she asked for and the cat ornament she didn't ask for. Douglas knows that she's building up a collection of them, and he can picture her smile even over the scratchy, expensive phone line. Later, after a breakfast of lemon tea and polo mints – they aren't booked in for breakfast – he finds an English radio station playing carols. Martin and Arthur and Carolyn sing. It's so appalling that Douglas and Herc join in to try and make it better, but they just make it worse.

It's too icy and too short-notice to go out for lunch anywhere, but in the end they get the hotel kitchen to send up sandwiches and coffee. It's not Christmas dinner, but no-one, not even Arthur, is disappointed.

Thanks for reading, feedback welcome! Merry Christmas!

The End.