Work Text:
A New Existentialism 2: I'll Be Home for Christmas
by -M, Meletor, Meletor the Muffin Muse
First-Person POV; James'
James L. Norrington, lieutenant, 81663. On December 5 I received the best news I've had all the while I've been here at Gitmo. They were sending me home. Finally. Sure, I didn't fly out until the morning of the 23, and I had to leave for the base again on the 2 of January, but after more than three years in this place without so much as a night off, going home for Christmas felt like the ultimate chimes of freedom. I couldn't help myself. I wrote Will. I told him I was on leave from Christmas Eve to New Years, and he wrote back as fast as express mail there and back could be expected, and asked me when my plane was coming in and at what airport, because he wanted to be there to pick me up. Well, I told him 3:45, and I told him which airport, and I spent the next three days trying to get the silly grin off my face. Because even if he wasn't mine anymore, I still wanted to see him.
I was talking to Jack the night before I left; he sat in his cell and I sat with my back against the bars and my head leaned back so my forehead wedged through and my hair fell upside-down. We talked quietly, and he ran three fingers through my hair over and over. If I asked him a question that he had to think about, his hand stopped while he thought and started back up again when he answered. But that night, he was the one asking the questions. He asked me if I was going to see my folks and I said no, they wouldn't want me to. He said that was sad and I said no, not really. Then he asked if I had a sweetheart, and I said I used to, but no. So he asked who I was going to stay with, then, if I didn't have a family and I didn't have a sweetheart, and I told him I didn't know, but I sure as hell wasn't staying here. He was quiet for a little while after that, and then he asked me if I was going to miss him. I said no, and asked if he would miss me. He said like a fly misses water, and I laughed and told him that was the dumbest saying I'd ever heard. He said he'd wish me Merry Christmases, though, and Happy New Years, from down here in Cuba. I told him I'd wish him the same.
When I got off the plane, Will wasn't there. I wasn't surprised by that. I figured that he'd forgotten, or maybe decided that he didn't want to come see me after all. I shrugged my shoulders and told myself it was nothing I shouldn't have expected, and I felt something get lighter inside me, which I guess was me cheering up. The blinking white Christmas lights dripping off everything were suddenly a lot more annoying, though. I picked up my carry-on and started to the baggage claim. About halfway down the concourse, I heard an overamplified voice crackle through the ceiling:
.â€"/James Norrington, please come to Central Security/.
I had absolutely no idea why they would want me, unless it was just because I'd flown up from Guantanamo, but I'd done the whole triple-squared-security-check thing already and how much could I pick up on a private flight from Cuba, except maybe some cigars from the fat guy with the aisle seat? So I ignored it and kept walking. Then it barked again, and the voice sounded a little exasperated, if exasperation carries through airport PA systems.
.â€"/James Norrington, *please* to make his way to Central Security immediately/.
Well, fine. I hoisted my carry-on bag up a little higher and took off at a clip toward where the signs told me Central Security was. As soon as I got there, a lady, the nervous kind you wouldn't expect at a security stop, latched onto my arm one-handed and asked if I was Lt. Norrington. I nodded and started to fish out my ID, but she assured me it wasn't necessary and led me to a little office-sort of room.
.â€"Jamie!
Will was incredibly cheery for someone whose wrists were cuffed to the legs of a folding chair. I looked at him and looked at the nervous lady and raised an eyebrow, and she explained that he had tried to slip through the security check. When they brought him back here, he had given my name. I shook my head and smiled and told Will he was an idiot and he had to stop doing such stupid things. He told me he couldn't help it and asked the lady when they'd un-cuff him.
Once Will and I got out of there, and he told me his side (he had just wanted to pick me up at the gate and they refused to listen to reason) and I picked up my luggage, we went out to his car and loaded my bags into the trunk. It was 4:48. He hurried me into the passenger's seat and told me he'd made reservations for 5:00 at a nearby restaurant, so we had to move quick. I protested that I didn't have any of my cash yet and was still dressed like an airline slob, and he said he was paying and it didn't matter. I was hungry and didn't want to argue.
At dinner, he asked me if I knew where I was staying. I said I didn't, actually, and he said I should stay at the apartment.
.â€"Your stuff's all there, anyway.
I asked him why he hadn't put it into storage.
.â€"Mm... I didn't really feel like it.
I agreed to stay, then, and he reached over and took a forkful of my chiles en nogados. He pulled a face, so I stole a piece of his pollo con molé and told him I made better molé sauce. He nodded, then he asked the waiter for another bottle of wine.
By the time we left the restaurant, Will was drunk, but he didn't want to take a taxi because he'd have to leave his car. So I drove back to the apartment. I was surprised to find out that I hadn't forgotten the way, even after not driving in the area for almost four years. I didn't even have to think about it - I just drove automatically while Will sang drunkenly along with Christmas carols on the radio and I joined in for the verses I knew. I had almost forgotten how terrible Will's sense of pitch is. Some time during the ride, I put two and two together and asked him how he had passed the time in security.
.â€"Singing Christmas songs.
Which would explain the nervous lady. I couldn't help laughing, even though he scowled at me for it. When "I'll be Home For Christmas" came on, he flopped across the center console so the back of his head was on my leg and said he'd missed me. I said I'd missed him too.
It was a pretty long drive to the apartment, so when we got there Will was already starting to sober up. We went up to the fourth floor and down to door on the end at the right, and he pulled out his key, stuck it in the lock, and said he'd have to remember to get another copy for me. I said I was only staying until January 2, and he shrugged. When he pushed the door open, something green and spiky with round white beads tied to it landed on my head. I asked him what the hell it was, and he said it was mistletoe and kissed me.
Once we tangled our way over to the couch and fell onto it, neither of us wanted to be awake much longer, so we fell asleep.
I woke up before he did, so I went into the kitchen and made coffee. I could tell when he woke up, because the afghan on the couch groaned and swore at me. I pulled up a corner and handed him a cup of coffee, assuring him that it was strong enough to either blow his hangover away or get him so hyped up on caffeine that he wouldn't notice it anymore. He sat up, wrapped the afghan around himself, and took the mug, telling me that God made two kinds of angels: those with coffee and those without, and I was definitely one of the first. I smiled and sat next to him.
After a few minutes he asked me how things were at Guantanamo. I told him I didn't want to talk about Gitmo, and he said that was alright and he understood. We were silent together for a couple minutes more, and then I finally couldn't not ask the question that had been nagging me worse than my mother would. I asked it very
quietly.
.â€"So did you see other people while I was down there?
.â€"Yeah.
.â€"Good.
.â€"Good?
.â€"Well if you had honestly spent the last almost four years holed up waiting for me and me alone, that would be pathetic.
.â€"Oh. Yeah. ...So did you?
.â€"Did I what?
.â€"Find anyone in Guan-whatever the Hell you call it?
I said no, and then I told him about Jack. He told me it seemed like a pretty good setup, but he didn't think piracy and terrorism were the same thing. I nodded. Then he asked me if I remembered anything about last night. I said I didn't. Then he got up, put the coffee on the table, picked up the mistletoe from the floor, and threw it at me. I caught it. He came back to the couch and kissed me. His mouth tasted like coffee and morning breath and old alcohol, but I didn't mind.
Because that wasn't the point.
end
My Two Cents: AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! I refuse to venture to say that these boys and their story will resurface, because then the bunny might run away. HOWEVER-- This is for all you lovelies who FB-ed on 'A New Existentialism', especially the ones who said James deserved a better ending, and the ones who wanted to see more in this style / 'verse. It's a different mood, but I needed some fomg-cutesies, and the boys were very obliging. AND-- LOOK WHO JUST WROTE AU WILLINGTON! w00t me! Okay, I need to just shut up and post this, huh? There are probably other things I wanted to say about it, but... I've bounced them all out of my ears by now. Read! Feedback! I love you...