Chapter Text
“Will there be a fire to sit by?” David asks, sleepy in the passenger’s seat as Patrick drives the last stretch toward his hometown.
Patrick leans to see under the fog on the windshield. “Yep.”
David thumbs over his knee and adds in a mumble, “And eggnog?”
“By the gallon,” Patrick assures him, slowing down on a patch of ice.
David nods and a smile drifts on his lips. He reaches to pull Patrick’s hand from the wheel and tangles their fingers, half-asleep.
He should have slept more last night, but he found himself awake, imagining Patrick’s childhood home; he was excited to see it and this kept him up. Pretty silly to stay awake out of happiness, pace the kitchen with a musing smile and eat two containers of yogurt, but he couldn’t help it.
Patrick showed up an hour into his reverie, bleary and confused.
Why aren’t you in bed?
Because I’m excited because I get to see where you grew up-- is that weird?
Patrick’s expression told him it wasn’t weird. That it was sweet. Unexpected, so all the sweeter. David nodded, reassured, and finished his yogurt. Then he went back to bed with Patrick, only twenty minutes before their alarm rang.
“You gonna make it?” checks Patrick, amused.
“Mm?”
Patrick reaches to shake his leg. “David. C’mon. We’re ten minutes away.”
“Okay.” David drifts, then forces himself to sit up and nod. “Okay.” He rubs his face hard and breathes in. “Yes. Awake, I’m awake.” He blinks, looking into the dark trees, then at Patrick. “Where the fuck are we?”
“Almost there.”
“I thought you said they lived in a town with like, a bank. And a grocery store.”
Patrick turns a corner, revealing the main street of a small town, not unlike their own.
David presses his lips together. “Mhm.”
“Hey, there’s the bank.”
“Okay,” says David, annoyed but affectionate, turning to stare his husband down. “You can’t blame me for not wanting to repeat our last…” He gestures as if shaking something icky from his hand. “Wilderness experience.”
“Are you referring to our honeymoon?”
“Yes,” says David, very soft.
He would say more, but he spots the diner that Patrick used to study at and he softens. He described it well -- blue neon, too many posters, a rusty bike rack out front. Then they pass the elementary school, nondescript brick, one story; he recognizes the oak tree that Patrick fell out of when he was nine and smiles to himself. Patrick turns a corner, passing the Shop ‘n Save, then the city hall, which has a massive moose statue out front. Someone strung the antlers with Christmas lights and ornaments, topped it with a life-sized Santa, and surrounded it with several decked-out snowmen.
“Subtle,” says David.
Patrick chuckles. “Yeah. It started with the lights and got bigger every year. Kind of a tradition. All the kids come out on the first Saturday in December and just bring what they’ve got from home.”
David glances at him, smiling, and thumbs over his palm. “Would you do that as a kid?”
“Yeah, with my cousins. We’d always try to climb the moose. Whoever got to the top first got the first swing at the Christmas piñata.”
David raises his brows. “Oh, the Christmas piñata.”
“My aunt would always handmake one,” says Patrick. “I’m sure my mom has pictures because they were…” He pauses as he turns onto a narrow dirt road. “...one of a kind.”
David nods, sure this is his husband’s polite way of saying horrible. “Mhm. How did that tradition start?”
“My aunt saw the idea in Good Housekeeping in 1979 and it stuck.” He smiles and shrugs. “Good way for all the kids to burn up energy.”
“How many of there were you again…?”
He turns onto an even skinnier road and the branches brush the car. “Oh, about twenty.”
David wrinkles his nose. “My God. Okay, remind me...”
“So Cara--”
“Your mom’s sister.”
“Right. She had Connor, Sean, Liam, Aidan, and Ronan.”
“That’s too many,” mumbles David, leaning his head back. “And you’re close with Sean and Liam.”
“Yep. And then my dad’s sister--”
“Bridget,” recalls David.
“Yeah, she had Ryan, Keegan, Kelly, and Alana.”
“And you always played with...Kelly?”
“Alana.”
“Fuck. Alana. Okay.”
Patrick glances at him with a slight smile. “It’s nice you remember any of this, David.”
“Um, of course I remember, you’re my husband.”
Patrick’s smile brightens and he chuckles. Then he leans across the console to kiss him. “I love you.”
David laughs, smiling too. “Eyes on the road. I love you too.”
Patrick moves his hand to David’s knee and squeezes it, then slows as the snow builds up on the unplowed road. After a moment, he murmurs, “Okay, right up here…”
David leans forward, holding his breath as a two-story house emerges in the trees. The roof is lined with warm white lights and the path to the porch has been recently shoveled; there’s a huge tree glittering within and several sparkly reindeer on the lawn. He smiles, then looks at Patrick and softens at his expression.
He hasn’t been here in years and it shows. He’s suddenly bursting.
David rubs his hand, smiling harder, and he shuts the car off. He catches David’s gaze, about to speak, but the front door flies open before he can.
Marcy pokes her head out. Her expression transforms in excitement and she waves hurriedly for Clint.
“They’re here! Clint, they’re here!” she shouts.
They can hear her all the way in the car. Patrick chuckles, shaking his head, and gets out of the car with David, who immediately slides on the ice and swears.
“It’s icy!” calls Marcy, hurrying across the drive in her slippers.
She throws her arms around Patrick and sways. “Oh, it’s so good to see you! You look so happy...”
David pieces his way around the car to join them and Marcy smiles, turning to hug him too. It’s a more forceful hug than he was expecting from a 68-year-old and he pops his brows.
“Oh, okay! Um--”
“You’re so tall,” she says fondly.
“I’m not--”
“Marcy!” calls Clint, laughing. “Let them in before you all freeze!”
She nods, pulling back, and Patrick takes two suitcases and his guitar from the trunk.
“Oh, let me help--”
“No, mom. David?”
David gestures at the ice, moving away from the car. “I’m already going to have enough trouble not falling, so…”
Patrick picks up both bags and his guitar. “There’s that Christmas spirit.”
David smirks, amused, and walks alongside Marcy. “So. Your house is beautiful.”
“Oh, thank you, David. We called Sean to do the lights. We’ve skipped them the last few years because Patrick hasn’t been here, but this year’s special.” She smiles. “How was the drive?”
“Relaxing because I wasn’t the one driving.”
She laughs and nods. They reach the door and Clint smiles hard. He shakes David’s hand, then pulls him into a firm, unexpected hug.
“Oh-kay, lots of hugging,” says David, eyeing Patrick over Clint’s shoulder.
Patrick sets their stuff on a bench in the entryway. “Don’t scare him away guys…”
Marcy laughs. “Oh, pff. It’s been too long!”
“Three months,” Patrick reminds them.
“Well, it felt longer,” she tells him. “It only flew by for you because you were on your honeymoon half the time.”
“Actually,” says David, “our honeymoon was very lowkey because, despite our best efforts to get to the Maldives, we ended up in--”
“Canada, yes, they know that, David,” says Patrick.
“Well, I like to remind people that we did try to get there...”
“We did,” agrees Patrick. “It was too expensive.”
“Oh well,” says Marcy, shutting the door. “There are more important things to spend money on.” Then she smirks. “I’m sure you enjoyed each other’s company anyway--”
“Mom.”
She winks. David’s mouth curves into a scandalized, delighted frown, and he pops his brows at his husband, who shakes his head with a laugh.
“Marcy, don’t tease them,” chuckles Clint, then gestures into the living room, “Go on and get warm by the fire, we’ll get drinks -- what would you like?”
David smiles, a bit unbalanced from the attention. “Oh, that’s very nice of you, um -- I will take a whiskey.”
Clint points at him, glancing at Patrick. “I like him.” He adds to David, “I have a great single malt from ‘54.”
“Oh my God, okay, um. Yes please.”
“I’ll have one too,” Patrick says, taking their bags off the bench and adding to his mom, “is the cottage unlocked?”
David turns from his examination of the living room, where a table of spectacular appetizers is waiting. Not much in the world could take his attention off those bacon-wrapped pineapple bites, except the prospect of privacy.
“Cottage?” he asks, instantly flirtatious.
“Yeah, didn’t I mention that?” asks Patrick. “It’s at the back of the property. We built it for the holidays years ago.”
“So...so we could...?” David gestures; it’s a vague gesture but it communicates everything to Patrick.
“Yes, David,” he murmurs, adding after his parents disappear to pour drinks, “could you tone it down?”
“Um, this is an unexpected gift,” says David, shifting closer to tug on Patrick’s collar. He kisses him. “So no.” He bites his bottom lip, looking into Patrick’s eyes. “Can I help you with those bags now?”
“If you’ll actually help.”
“I won’t,” says David, kissing him again.
Marcy interrupts with two glasses of whiskey. “Drinks?”
Patrick clears his throat and pulls away, a bit flushed.
“Yeah, thank you…”
“Ooh, thank you,” David agrees.
She holds her finger up. “I’ll be right back, let me put on some music...”
She leaves again and David looks at Patrick, gesturing with the large glass of booze.
“So this is a bad idea.”
Patrick takes a sip of his drink, sets it aside, then takes David’s face in his hands. “David?”
David’s eyes widen in anticipation. “Yes?”
“You need to keep it in your pants for one hour. Can you do that?”
“Um, not if you keep using that tone,” he whispers.
Patrick laughs, caught off guard, and drops his hands. “You’re impossible.”
David nods, satisfied. “I know.” Then he looks into the living room. “Do I see potato skins?”
Patrick takes his hand and tugs him to the couch. Music starts to play and Marcy comes in with some plates. Clint returns with a couple of logs to add to the fire, then insists on taking their bags to the cottage in the back.
The rest of them sit near the fire. Marcy passes out plates for appetizers. Patrick grins and nabs the nearest artichoke puff, then hands it to David to try.
“These are the best.”
David takes a bite “OhmyGod--” He stares at Marcy. “Can I have this recipe?”
“Oh, of course, do you like to cook?”
“No, but Patrick does, and he’ll be making these several times a week.”
Patrick laughs. Clint returns after a few minutes, and soon they’re all chatting about the food, sipping whiskey, relaxing by the fire as a classic album plays from the kitchen.
David spends most of the time staring at Patrick, who’s completely at ease, describing occurrences from their life together -- expanding the store, remodeling their house, visiting Alexis in New York. David listens with a soft, serene smile, talking less than usual, one hand squeezing Patrick’s leg.
“--so I don’t think we’ll be doing that again.”
Patrick’s in the middle of a story about a honeymoon misadventure in a seaplane.
“No,” agrees David, stealing a cheese-salami pinwheel from the appetizer table. “No, we won’t be, when he said plane I was picturing something larger.”
“So was I,” admits Patrick.
“We had to weigh ourselves before getting on the plane,” says David. “Weigh ourselves so we didn’t crash.”
“Oh, of course,” says Marcy. “All those tiny planes make you do that.
“I was wondering why you didn’t fly here,” says Clint.
David frowns as he eats an olive. “There’s an airport here ?”
“It would have been a tiny plane, David,” says Patrick, patting his leg before getting up to tend the fire.
David shakes his head at the memory. “I am terrified of heights. And he knows that. Yet he put me on a plane like that.”
“Should have done more research,” says Patrick. “It was worth it to get to that resort though.”
David glances at him. Everything he wants to say absolutely cannot be said in front of his in-laws, so he settles for a slight smirk.
“My brother used to pilot those planes,” says Clint. “Up north in Fort Severn. Remember that trip, Marcy?”
“Remember it?” laughs Marcy. “It was forty below, I don’t know what we were thinking. It was one thing for us to risk our lives, but poor Patrick. He was only eleven!”
“We saw polar bears,” Patrick says to David.
David gestures with his whiskey, disturbed. “Um, why were you that far north?”
“Family trip,” says Patrick.
“So this...this was fun for you?”
“Not when the plane was sliding off the runway.”
Marcy chuckles at the memory and pats her husband’s arm. “And you let Patrick drive that snowmobile!”
David’s eyes flash in sudden amusement. “When he was eleven?”
“Oh, everyone learns to drive when they’re young here,” says Clint.
“So he…” David frowns. “He really could drive when he was 13. I thought that was a joke when he told me.”
“Well, we didn’t want him driving, but Connor taught him…” Marcy rolls her eyes fondly. “And he kept that a secret until...well…” She chuckles and eyes her son. “I’m sure you’ve told David this story.”
Patrick takes a sip of whiskey. “The time Sean convinced me to steal the car and drive him up 637 just so we could get Tim Horton’s? Yeah.”
“Ooh,” teases David. “Yes. That’s the only time you ever got grounded.”
Marcy sighs. “Imagine getting that call from the police.”
Clint shrugs. “I was proud they made it as far as they did.”
“No, Clint. No.”
“How far did they make it?” asks David, crunching on a cracker with some brie and fig jam.
“Almost to the highway!” says Marcy.
“We ran out of gas,” Patrick explains.
“Mhm. You didn’t think to check that before you took your parents’ car on a joyride?”
“It wasn’t a joyride, I followed the speed limit.”
David presses his lips together, very amused. “Only you would steal a car, then follow the speed limit.”
“I just wanted to get donuts with my cousin.”
David covers his face and shakes his head with a laugh. “My God. Okay, the only time I got grounded, I was 17, and it was because I traded one of my mom’s wigs for a signed photo of Judy Garland."
“Surprised you’re still alive,” says Patrick.
“Mm. I’ve never heard her scream like that. Not at me,” he adds to Marcy and Clint. “Just. At God. In our courtyard.”
Patrick chuckles. “Did you stay grounded or…?”
“What?” asks David, reminiscing. “Oh, no. No, of course not. I called my boyfriend and climbed out of my window.”
Patrick looks at him, surprised, intrigued. “You climbed out your window?”
David grimaces. “I did, yes. Please don’t picture that.”
“Oh, too late. Did you climb down the ivy or jump or…?”
“Um, I kind of, slid? Then hung off the gutter? Then...” He frowns. “Dropped?”
Patrick opens his mouth. “Oh. David…”
“Okay,” says David, putting a finger on Patrick’s lips.
Patrick takes his wrist and moves his hand, unfazed. “Tell me this was when you had that pink streak in your hair.”
“Does that complete the image for you? Yes, it was.”
Patrick chuckles richly and David rolls his eyes.
“Anyway,” he says, reaching for another glazed meatball. “You were saying…”
“Oh, I was saying you spent the whole plane ride in my lap.”
“Yes I did,” agrees David. “Literally everything is delicious, by the way.”
Marcy smiles. “Oh, thank you, David.” She chuckles. “After the food we had at the wedding, I was a bit nervous nothing I made would compare.”
“Mhm, that’s actually how we chose the food,” says David, going for another pinwheel. “We wanted something unparalleled.”
“You chose the food, David,” Patrick reminds him.
“That’s probably for the best,” David says through a bite of cheese. “That day did not bring out the best side of me.”
Patrick snorts. “Well, Stevie gave me a pretty entertaining blow-by-blow, so.”
“A what?”
“It’s a boxing term,” says Patrick, his drink halfway to his mouth. “Detailed description of events.”
“Well, that term could be dangerously repurposed.”
Patrick dips his head and nods in defeat, then pats David’s knee and sets his drink aside. He gets up to add a log to the fire, then glances outside as a cover blows off the hot tub in the wind.
“Oh, Clint, I told you that wouldn’t stay there,” says Marcy.
Clint sighs and smiles. “Right again, honey.”
“I’ll help, hang on,” says Patrick, stretching to nab his shoes from under the couch.
His dad thanks him, tossing him a coat from beside the side door, and they disappear outside into the snow. David watches this, sucking a bit of jam off his finger, and slowly smiles.
“So,” he says to Marcy. “We have good taste.”
She laughs, brightening, and nods. “Yes, we do.”
They watch for a moment as Patrick and his dad struggle with the tarp in the wind. David hums. Between this image and the whiskey, he’s feeling uncharacteristically soft.
“Okay,” he adds to Marcy, voice lowered to a whisper. “I’ve been promised a picture of the famous Brewer Christmas piñatas…?”
“Oh,” she mutters. “I don’t know what my sister was thinking with those...yes, hang on…”
She gets up and takes a photo album off the mantle, then sits beside David on the couch and opens it to the first page. David smirks over a sip of whiskey. He’s going to catalog every embarrassing childhood picture in here so he can mock his husband as soon as they’re alone later.
“Oh no,” he says instantly, staring at a picture of little Patrick in a fireman costume.
“Oh good, this is the right album, I have too many…” says Marcy.
“Mm, tell me about this one,” says David, tapping the picture.
“Did you ask about the piñatas just so you could find embarrassing pictures?”
He nods, unashamed. “Yes.”
Marcy snorts and shakes her head. “Well, he was five, and our shed burned down that summer and he was so impressed by the firefighters. He couldn’t stop talking about them, so naturally, he wanted to be one for Halloween. I had to make the costume, we couldn’t find one anywhere here…”
“You made that? That’s beautiful.”
“Thank you!” she says, putting an arm around him and patting his side. “Oh, and this one…” She points at a picture of Patrick with goggles, standing beside a bike, both hands on his hips in an energetic Superman pose. “I...I don’t know why he wanted to wear the goggles when he was learning to ride a bike. I have no idea.”
David looks closer. “Is that a snorkel?”
She laughs. “Yes! Like I said, no clue…”
She turns the page and David presses his hand to his mouth. There’s a picture of Patrick on his Little League team and he looks so serious that David almost snorts; the name of the team doesn’t help -- The SuperSonics.
“Oh...no,” he murmurs, bursting with affection.
“He would explain everything to me during the game,” Marcy shares. “He would come up to the bleachers and say Mom, it’s the last inning. Mom, that was a foul. Mom, we only need two more runs. He was 7.”
“Okay, that does not surprise me,” says David, resting his elbow on his knee. He smiles, tilting his head -- drinking whiskey in his husband’s childhood home and looking at old pictures is a dangerous recipe for emotional overload. He doesn’t care. He laughs. “His expression.”
“Oh, I know, it was life or death--”
“Yes, I’ve seen that side of him, I was not prepared for it.”
She chuckles. “Well, if you think he looks serious there...mm, hold on…”
She flips to the end of the album and points at a picture of Patrick, about seventeen, in the front lineup of his high school team, leaning on a bat, almost smirking.
David opens his mouth, almost offended by how confident he looks. “Um.”
“I know,” says Marcy. “They were the best in the province that year.”
David shakes his head. Then he touches the photo, smiling, and says, “When we were first starting the store, I didn’t know if he could get us the grants we needed. But he was sure. And this…” He chuckles. “This reminds me of the look he gave me when I wasn’t sure he could get the money.”
Marcy smiles, leaning her cheek on her hand. “That look makes me happy. As a mom, you know, that look is very meaningful.”
David glances at her, waiting for her to continue. Her smile wobbles a bit as she reminisces.
“It’s beautiful when your kid knows what they want, then they go for it. Really go for it.” She looks at him. “I’m sure you know Patrick is very determined. When he makes up his mind, it’s made up. And I knew, when I met you, he had already made his decision about you.” She bumps her arm on his. “He knew you were it.”
David inhales, eyes brighter than usual. “I know. I knew he was too.”
She smiles, looking at the album, then at him. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” he says warmly.
“Oh, the piñatas…” she remembers, flipping back to the first half of the album. She laughs when she finds them. “Good lord, look at those.”
David’s eyes jump wider and he frowns at the homemade, rainbow-splattered, sparkly...pigs?
“Are those…?”
“Oh, pigs, yes, because the neck of the bottle was easy to make into a snout.”
“That one has a Santa hat…” He makes a face, swishing the last of his whiskey in the bottom of his glass. “So. These will give me nightmares.”
“One year she filled them with cinnamon rolls.”
“No,” breathes David.
Marcy nods, frowning in a loving, long-suffering way. “They came out like this…” She gestures. “In this clump. And all the children stood there like…”
She makes a shocked, hesitant face and David chuckles and nods.
“Then Patrick took one of the rolls and threw it at Sean, so…”
“He started a food fight?” David asks in disbelief.
“Yes. They were finishing some drama from earlier in the day. I don’t know. Probably something to do with the moose.”
“Ah, the moose--”
Patrick and Clint come back in and David glances up. He smiles at Patrick, eyes sparkling, and waits for his inevitable sigh.
He sighs. “David.”
“Mm?” David says innocently. “You were very cute in high school--”
“Okay,” says Patrick, unable to fight his smile. “Thanks so much, mom.”
“He asked for pictures!”
David nods. “I did.”
Patrick hangs his jacket up, then steps closer and pecks David on the mouth. “Did you see the snorkel one?”
“Yes, what were you thinking?”
“I don’t know, I was five.”
David laughs and slides his fingers up his wrist. He wants to tug him close, warm him up, and he hopes his touch conveys this. Patrick’s smile tells him it does.
“Storm’s getting worse,” Clint says, shaking his hat free from snow.
“I know!” says Marcy, looking outside before adding to David and Patrick, “You got here just in time!”
Patrick nods, settling by David, and Marcy teases Clint for trusting the weather report; while they’re distracted, David and Patrick sneak a gentle, grinning kiss, then hold each other closer. The music fades in the kitchen and Marcy directs Clint to change the album out on their old boombox.
Marcy beams as the music changes, pointing in the direction of the song, and looks at her son.
“This is the first song you ever learned!”
He nods. “Yep.”
Marcy looks at David. “He was eight, he was playing his dad’s guitar, it was too big, but he was so good.”
Patrick glances at David to refute this and David almost laughs. Then he nudges his husband, expectant, and smirks.
“Honey,” he says, obnoxious on purpose.
“Yes, yes,” agrees Marcy, stopping Clint as he tries to sit down. “Shut off the music, Clint, we’re about to have real music…Patrick, where’s your guitar?”
“Oh, real music, okay…”
His dad hands him his case and he takes his guitar from it, then looks at David. David gestures impatiently, smiling, and Patrick shakes his head as his fingers find the right chords. Marcy nods, grinning, and he gestures to give her the floor.
“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, ” she starts.
He smiles and continues, “Jack Frost nipping at your nose…”
Then she nudges David.
“Oh, no, no.” He finishes his drink. “I’m your audience.”
Patrick continues, unsurprised. “Yuletide carols being sung by a choir...”
David tries not to smile, but he can’t help it. He looks away as Clint joins in on the next few lines, then gestures in loving disbelief as his husband’s family sings a rollicking cover of The Christmas Song.
“And so I’m offering this simple phrase…” Patrick sings at the end, tilting his head as he loses himself in the harmonies. “ From kids to one to ninety-two…. ”David smirks. “Ooh, the cut-off age for Christmas joy--”
Patrick laughs. “David.” He recovers. “ Although it’s been said...many times, many ways…”
Marcy elbows David and he rolls his eyes, joining in on “ Merry Christmas….Merry Christmas...to you.”
Patrick smiles at him, finishing the song with a lingering, trembling chord. David shakes his head, overwhelmed, and they share a soft, specific, gaze -- the one they used to exchange in the store before they were ever together. That infatuated, ineffable God I love you look.
Then they glance down, hands almost brushing. They stay here for another hour, talking to his parents, pressing closer in front of the dying fire. Patrick plays a few more songs and David listens to his parents tell old stories with a faint, firm smile.
They drift toward the cottage at half-past ten, making their way by the porch light from the main house. David leans on Patrick, exhausted but smiling, and they go inside. It’s warm and smells faintly like fire smoke; he’s surprised by the consistent decor -- white furniture, a wood stove, exposed brick, lots of throw blankets.
“Did your mom pick all this?”
“Yeah, the Brewers aren’t totally incapable of an aesthetic.”
David continues inside, fingers floating along the back of the sofa. Patrick checks the woodstove, adjusts one of the vents, then moves with David to the tiny bedroom.
David turns. “Can we live here?”
Patrick laughs, pulling him into a kiss. “Sure.”
David smiles on his mouth, tugging him a bit closer, and then they pause, linger, bump noses while the snow swirls outside.
“Okay, I know I said I wanted to spend this Christmas with just you, but…”
Patrick waits, running his hands up David’s chest and over his shoulders. David meets his eyes with a soft smirk.
“But this isn’t the worst night I’ve ever had.”
Patrick nods. “High praise.”
David laughs. “I like your parents. A lot.”
“They like you too.”
David wrinkles his nose. “How did that happen?”
“They know how happy you make me,” says Patrick.
David draws a line up his chest. “Mm, speaking of making you happy, I am way too tired to do that now.”
Patrick laughs and presses closer, wrapping his arms around his neck; he leans into him and they drift as they hold each other.
“So am I.” He tucks his face into David’s neck and kisses him under his jaw, then softens against him. “I love you.”
David hugs him closer. “I love you too.”