Thank you all so so much for the sweet reviews and feedback on the first chapter.
The second one took a while, but...here it is!
"Santa's sleigh might be faster," Addison snipes. "Want to write him a letter and see if he can just...I don't know, shove us down your mother's chimney or something?"
"It's not my fault." he points out. It really isn't. How was he supposed to know the flight would be an hour late?
Well. An hour and then some, but whatever. It isn't his fault. Addison's just been touchy since he crammed her precious clothes into a suitcase and just about dragged her to the airport. She's still in the short-sleeved white sweater and trousers she wore to work, one of her many long black coats over it.
"You could have given me some warning," she huffs, crossing her legs. She's smaller than usual, in flats intead of heels, somehow less intimidating, and he indulgently drapes an arm around her stiff, angry shoulders.
"I look terrible." she continues, plucking at her sweater.
"You look beautiful." he says automatically, no less than his duty after eleven years of marriage. It's reflexive, as vital to survival as any other. He says it to her when she's in scrubs, in evening dress, in pajamas, in nothing at all.
She does, however, look slightly mollified. "Are you sure your mother won't mind us just showing up?"
"She'll be thrilled," he replies, with an ease he's far from feeling.
"We don't have any gifts." she reminds him.
"Your catalogs work in New York, right?" he rolls his eyes.
"Plaid or plain?"
"Huh?"
"Plaid. Or. Plain."
"What?"
"The blanket, Derek." she hisses. "It's not brain surgery. We discussed it in the morning."
Right. The I have a lot to make up for blanket.
"Although you might have a better chance of remembering if it were brain surgery," she continues. "Since you're so obsessed with work."
"I am not." he says, stung. He took the time to plan this trip, didn't he? He packed both their things.
"Tell me Nelson couldn't have done Mr. Epstein's frontal lobe," she challenges. "Since he was, you know. On call."
"Nelson's an idiot." he mumbles, knowing she has him.
"And you're an arrogant workaholic."
"Well, you're a snob." he replies. "You're only in a bad mood because I booked economy."
"I don't know about you, but being stuck in a metal tube with screaming babies and coughing people isn't my idea of fun."
"It's all I could get last minute." he objects. "Or we could drive." He smirks at the expression on her face.
"In your sardine can? No."
"I drove here in it," he reminds her.
"I know." she snaps. "Or at least I found out after Richard told me."
"Still can't believe he did that." he mutters; her eyes narrow.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing." he says brightly. "How about some hot chocolate? Good juju."
We definitely need some.
..
"What is that?" Addison splutters, almost spitting into her styrofoam cup. Her instincts take over at the last second, though, and she dabs at her mouth with a paper napkin.
"Hot chocolate." he replies, inhaling fragrant steam. "You said you wanted some."
"Hot chocolate," she repeats dubiously. "I wamted hot chocolate, as in juju, not...motor oil."
"It can't be that bad." he scoffs.
"You try it," she challenges, thrusting her cup at him. "Go on."
"You're such a snob," he reiterates, blowing on his cup.
"Takes one to know one." she shoots back.
"Jesus." he coughs, dropping the cup in the trash, wishing he could get the powdery aftertaste out of his mouth. "It's disgusting."
"Such a snob." she smirks, stepping in front of him to perch in the last available seat in the overcrowded, loud lounge.
He leans grudgingly against her chair, praying to God or the air traffic control or Santa or whoever is responsible for flights being on schedule two days before Christmas. Theirs has already been delayed by over an hour, and his legs are protesting.
An old lady across the row smiles benignly at them, resting her hand on the arm of an equally old and wrinkly man next to her.
"Such a sweet couple." she smiles, reaching across to touch Addison's knee. "Going home for Christmas, dear?"
"Yes." Addison smiles. "You?"
"We're going home too." she beams, patting her husband's arm. "Trevor, darling. Look how sweet they are!"
Addison shoots him a look as the old man turns jerkily towrds them, his eyes impassive.
"He's feeling a bit better now." the woman whispers loudly, still holding Trevor's arm. She looks uncertain, though.
"Alzheimers." she hisses into their ears, cupping a hand over her mouth, nodding confidentially. "But he's a little better. He wanted to go home," she adds. "You remind me of us."
Derek glances down at the way he's leaning against Addison's seat, his arm draped loosely over the raised back, brushing her hair, the way she's instinctively leaning towards him. They look intimate, very married, as evidenced by the rings glinting on her hand - and glaringly absent from his.
"How lovely," the woman says wistfully. "To be young and going home to family for Christmas. Treasure it, sweetheart." she addresses Addison. "It goes so quickly. I never really got to enjoy our children, and now they're all grown up and gone away, no time for Christmas."
She looks around expectantly, as if expecting a small child to suddenly materialise.
"Oh," she says, flustered. "Dear me, I'm so sorry. Didn't mean to say-"
"That's all right," he says gently, taking in Addison's carefully neutral expression.
"I'm Joan." she says after a while, asking their names. They spend some time chatting about the woman's children, their work - no wonder you don't have little ones! - and their holiday plans.
"You know, dear," she says conspiratorially to him when Addison leaps to her feet when she hears their flight being announced. "You really ought to be enjoying the holidays. I saw you two fighting earlier...and forgive a nosy old lady, but there aren't ever enough years. You'll look back later when you're old and grey like us and you'll wish you'd spent more time with her. Or you'll be praying for just a little more. And let me tell you, son, that's the worst feeling in the world - don't you let that happen to you."
..
There's always somewhere to run. In the hospital, even in the tiny trailer that, if he's honest, is starting to wear on him too, there's always somewhere for him to escape to when the pressing weight of her gaze becomes too much to bear.
Which is something he should have thought of before he booked a transcontinental flight - in economy, next to a family with multiple squirming children - which means he's spending the next five hours in the company of his wife.
With nowhere to go - unless you count the extremely small, questionably clean bathroom, which he doesn't - he's trapped in the aisle seat next to Addison's precariously swinging shoe. He's contemplating how large a chunk of his leg he might lose to the pointy heel when he realises someone is touching his hair. Pulling, actually.
"Hello there," he says to the little boy peeking between their seats.
"God, I'm sorry." says a young woman who must be his mother. "Leo. Sit down."
"That's all right." he says, turning back to his journal. Addison is looking fixedly out the window.
"Ow." he mutters five seconds later, hoping the mother will notice. She doesn't, maybe because she's busy trying to prise her small daughter's hands off the in-flight magazine she's trying to eat. Her son is grasping his hair firmly, grinning.
Addison seems to be trying not to laugh.
"Help me, will you?" he hisses. She engages the child in a conversation about the cartoon character on his shirt while he manages to free his hair, hoping he hasn't got a bald patch.
"That's what you get for booking last-minute." Addison whispers as the little boy crawls into his mother's lap.
"I thought you wanted to spend the holidays with me." he replies, still smarting.
"In Seattle would have been fine." she rolls her eyes. "We didn't have to-"
"You're the one who hates Seattle."
"I do not."
"Of course you do. You hate Seattle. You hate the rain. You hate the trailer-"
"Anyone would hate the trailer-"
"- and you hate all the interns-"
"They're idiots!"
"-and you hate trout-"
"When you bring it into the house only half dead -"
"- and you hate the restaurants-"
"Well, you hate me," she says quietly, glancing over her shoulder at the family behind them. No one is listening. "I get to hate the little things, Derek."
"Addie-"
She smiles tightly, extending a hand to the little boy as he slips out of his seat.
"Where are you going?" she asks. His parents and sister are asleep, peaceful, the perfect little family.
"To stretch my legs." he says seriously.
"It's a very small plane." she replies with equal seriousness. "And you shouldn't wander off without telling your parents."
"They're sleepy." he pouts, pressing against her leg, lounging comfortably. He sneaks Derek a look, contemplating whether or not to speak to him. "And I'm bored."
"Why don't you sit...here." she says, maneuvering him onto her lap. "And we'll wait for your parents to wake up."
"Are you a mermaid?" he asks after a beat of silence, eyeing her hair. "My sister likes mermaids."
"No," Addison stifles a laugh. "I'm a surgeon."
"What's that?"
" A kind of doctor that cuts people open." he answers, pleased to finally contribute.
"Gross." the boy says, eyes widening. "What's your name?"
"I'm Derek." he smiles. "And this is Addison."
"I'm Joseph." he says sweetly. "Are you gonna cut anyone open right now?"
"No, not on a plane." he laughs. "Maybe later. In a hospital."
"I wanna be a surgeon." he says thoughtfully. "I can fix my sister. Mommy says she's really sick."
He pretends he doesn't notice the way Addison's hand passes protectively over the child's head, the way she looks over her shoulder at the blonde toddler in her father's arms.
"We're taking her to a special hospital." Joseph explains. "And they're gonna fix her."
"I'm sure she's going to be all right." he says quietly.
"I asked Santa to fix her." Joseph says. "Except it isn't Christmas yet."
"Two more days." he says, glancing at Addison.
"Two more days." she confirms, and Joseph looks relieved.
"What do you think you're doing?" his father asks mock-sternly from his seat, blinking sleep from his eyes. He glances over at his other sleeping son and the tiny girl.
"Oh, it's all right," Addison says quickly, a little embarrassed for some reason. Joseph trots back to his father, sliding meekly into his seat.
"I'm sorry," the man says, flustered. "It's just...we were up all night with the baby and sometimes it's hard, you know, with two..." he trails off, noticing it's just the two of them.
"I'm sure it is." he says, turning back to the book propped on his armrest.
Well, Addison's armrest, but it's between them, so he can see it.
"Stop breathing on me." she mutters, sliding the book into her lap. "And stop reading over my shoulder. You know it drives me crazy."
"Sharing is caring." says a little voice behind them.
They swallow laughter, enchanted by the little boys.
"On the first day of Christmas," Addison whispers. "My true love gave to me..."
"One delayed flight," he joins in. "On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me-"
"Two nosy septuagenarians, and one delayed flight." she snorts, covering her mouth.
"On the third day of Christmas," he hums. "My true love gave to me three tired children on a plane, two nosy septuagenarians, and one delayed flight."
Addison leans into his shoulder, warm and solid against him, and he lets her.
It's their season, after all.
Okay, so this is a bit vague. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to do a A Christmas Carol thing, or something else...this is just seguing into where I want to get them.
Also, only three IRL days to Christmas! I don't celebrate, but my boyfriend does. and keeps reminding me it's, you know. Here already.
Merry Christmas to all of you who do celebrate!
Please please please please please please review!