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Several attempts at subtly interviewing the guy, hours spent scrolling through online shopping sites, and yet he still couldn't figure out what to get Trigger for Christmas. He was running out of December, and at this point he was starting to come up with lies about some nonexistent alternate holiday traditions that would give him some extra leeway, if he could even use that time well - and if Trigger would believe it, which he wouldn't - and if Count would even remotely have peace of mind after something like that, which he would not.
Every morning, Count's Advent calendar, already advanced to a worrying stage, reminded him that he needed to get a move on. So here he was at a random local mall, looking for some inspiration if nothing else. The place was decorated for the festivities and perfectly child-friendly, certainly not expecting a veteran fighter pilot to be its customer, but who ever did? There was real Santa, and plenty of lights, and for some reason some very pungent candle stores that made no effort to be festive beyond throwing overdone, barely gingerbread- and pine-scented candle smells at any and all passerby like a nasal bombardment. There were balloons in festive colors, balloons in festive shapes, glowing wireframe reindeer, the same songs everyone knew since they were two years old and some lame modern remakes of those songs. There were the ever-present vending machines and crane machines which changed for no time nor place, a bastion of eternity in these changing seasons. Count traded a quarter for a soda, although anything tasted bitter and nasty while he walked by those damned candle stores.
He entertained the thought of getting one. Why not? He was desperate enough at this point, but would Trigger care about a candle of all things? They had a strong smell and then they burned out and disappeared and were done. It wasn't exactly gift material. Dryly, he thought of a candle that smelled like a plane wreck, which was about the only way a candle could possibly relate to planes. Trigger sure loved flying, but planes weren't in Count's budget, so he had to make do with something smaller, somehow. Nonetheless, he moved on from the candles.
In the walkways of the mall were smaller stalls, most of which consisted of jewelry, food, or plushies. The middle category might be great for his AWACS. Longcaster's best gift would be a treat to every restaurant in the area for breakfast, lunch and dinner, once from each gift giver. Or maybe just a mountain of food boxes he could eat for several days. Or maybe a pile of raw ingredients. He didn't know if the man actually cooked his own food. Regardless, this had nothing to do with Trigger. Unless it did, but Trigger never complained about the prison food and might eat anything in front of him as long as his guts were technically capable of processing it.
Jewelry was flashy and might appeal to a magpie of a man, but Trigger didn't ever lean towards any particular… anything that might relate to jewelry. It wasn't impossible, but all this stuff was generic anyway. The plushies, meanwhile, were mostly references to whatever media was popular with young people. Trigger was young for a pilot, but Count could imagine him launching into an unexpected speech about the source material just as easily as he could see him stare at any of these with baffled, blank eyes. He also never expressed any particular favoritism of plushies of all things, so again, Count moved on. Not that he expressed interest in anything but flying, but… Count would make do.
Like the candle stores, there were plenty of clothing stores, although primarily these stores were for women. A dress might make a good joke gift, so he set that idea in the back of his head and moved on. He was on a budget, after all.
…Sometimes Trigger thought like Count did. He shuddered at the idea of having to wear one of these himself, although Trigger's laughing might be worth it. Might be.
He kept wandering around the place until festive colors and sounds melted into each other and he had no idea what he was looking at. This wasn't helpful at all. The candles trying to murder his sense of smell snapped him out of it, and he started asking around for anywhere that might have some kind of plane merchandise. Any plane merch at all. There had to be something, right?
He was pointed to one place, and he found that place, and it was all damned kids toys. Varying target ages of kids toys, but kids toys nonetheless. Although, to his benefit, Trigger had never expressed particular disinterest in these things. But as he started picking out everything that related to planes - tiny planes with landing gear, larger planes in bright colors, huge planes made of foam that you could throw, little planes with controllers that you could fly, which made them drones- eugh, not drones - he wondered if a small imitation of the real thing would be interesting to him. Yeah, Trig liked planes. He liked real planes. Count had no idea if he would like a very small plane with no console or flight stick or any of what planes meant to veterans of real wars.
They weren't too expensive though, so he went ahead and got most of them, with money left to spare, so he kept looking. He asked about any store that might be military-oriented; it was his best bet at finding a more weighted gift, even if it was just a military coin. Giving Trigger more of those coins might give others in the service nightmares, but it would be funny.
There was a store like that here, actually. It wasn't very flashy and didn't do a very good job in the war for attention that all shops waged in a mall. It was also mostly a romanticized kind of military with very lame merchandise that Count knew how to judge, but there were a few good things here. Most notable of these were some wooden carvings of airborne and naval and ground units priced over a hundred dollars each, shiny and daring any meager hand to touch them.
Count wasn't a meager hand though, so he started touching them and turning them over to look at every part of them.
"Hey!" The woman at the counter barked. "Don't touch those!"
"These are nice pieces," Count appraised. "You make these? Whoever did knows their stuff." He gently flicked a little porthole, making the lady scowl.
"I did," she said. "And you're not allowed to break 'em unless you pay for 'em."
"Hey, hey, I won't break it." He set the model jet down, eyes still on the array of treated carvings. Among them were some equally-intricate UAVs and even the Arsenal Bird, which he frowned at. The propellers moved when he poked them, but that didn't make it charming. Did Trigger remember the bird fondly as a story of personal victory, or negatively as something that had threatened the world? Maybe he had mixed feelings. This one was worth over three hundred anyway, which was no longer in his budget.
At the end of the row were some very accurate models of those damned Ravens. How this woman knew about those well enough to carve, he didn't know. He turned away from them. Aside from the price, he just wasn't fond of those things.
"Not a fan of the big ones?" He was asked. "It took a lot of research to make 'em just to earn a frown like that."
"Well, I fought them," he said flatly, moving on to models of aircraft that had cockpits.
"Yeah right," she said dismissively. "You don't look like an Osean hero. Osean, sure, but not a hero."
"Finally someone agrees," he said under his breath, picking up an F-15. Yep, it looked like an F-15. He set it down and looked down its line to see the ever-familiar F-22. "You know, it's bad marketing to insult your customers."
"Get out of my shop then, if you don't like it."
"Nah. I think I'll buy this one." She didn't care as much for it, apparently, because its price didn't round upwards like so many of these would.
"Then let me do the handling 'til you're out of here, you oaf."
"Sure, sure." He put the thing back on its shelf and looked at the coins. He could squeeze one purchase in alongside the plane. She even had ones with real squadrons' colors, if a bit personalized by whatever new designer wanted to take a crack at their emblems. He gave Cyclops a long look before picking Strider's unicorn. It was weighty, as these things were supposed to be. He knelt down and tapped it on the tile floor, where it made a loud clink, eager to make much more should he drop it. Then he stood up, turned to the counter, bought his things, and left.
Hopefully these were better than the plushies he kept walking past. Certainly they were better than candles. All that was left was to wrap them, hide them, and wait. Good news: Count was very good at hiding things.
Bad news: Count was not a fan of waiting.
Good news: there wasn't much longer left to wait.
Bad news: it was plenty of time to build up a healthy serving of anxiety about this whole thing, but what could he do now? It was Christmas Eve and- Trigger called to ask if he could keep an eye out for a delivery for him. Okay.
Count made sure to wear his most ugly of ugly sweaters today. It was cold, and he had hot chocolate for both of them. He had stuff under his tree, and everyone he was inviting would have stuff to put under the tree, but he was only inviting Trigger for now. He had some excuse about having a cold today, and it was cold, and he had a lot of cold ones for when he needed them, but he wasn't sick. Everyone saw through it, probably, but they got the idea that he was sharing today with someone special and they accepted that he totally had a cold. Trigger, of course, heard that he was allergic to anyone who wasn't Trigger and was out of medication to deal with it, oh well, he'd have to wait until tomorrow. Trigger showed up at his door with a festive and mischievous grin, and a few boxes and bags in his hands. Count took them to the tree and filled his mitts with a mug of hot chocolate.
"Merry Christmas," he said with a smile.
"Merry Christmas," Trigger replied in kind. "You've decorated a lot."
Indeed, Count's house was full of lights and elves and little snowy houses and snowmen and glittery ribbons and all those silly things. "'Course. It was my favorite holiday as a kid."
"You say that about every holiday."
"Except Thanksgiving," Count said as he brought Trigger to a couch.
"Okay, you have a lot of second-favorites," Trigger said, sipping his chocolate.
"True."
"Good chocolate," Trigger nodded.
"Really? It's just box stuff."
"Yeah. Don't tell Longcaster I like box stuff, though."
"Certainly. You think he's got a ham or a turkey for the season?" Count asked, leaning back against the cushions. The tree was right there, bright and sparkly with all its ornaments, and Trigger was definitely admiring the way the lights shone through the fake icicles on the lower branches of the tree and not all the wrapping paper patterns just below that.
"Five quails," Trigger answered. "And we all know he's sharing none of them."
"Maybe if I ask nicely," Count said. "Where's he getting the money for five quails anyways? He should still be recovering from feast day."
"Maybe he married a rich woman?"
"You think Longcaster's married?"
"I dunno. Maybe." Count leaned forward to look at Trigger's face properly, the way his eyes were taking in everything, like he was trying to pick out shapes in the clouds. Count decided to wait until he settled on one particular item of interest.
"I think we know a lot of people who are more married than Longcaster," Count said.
"That includes us?" Trigger said coolly.
"Yep." He matched Trigger's coolness.
"Sweet. I hope there's a ring in here."
"There is. How'd you know?"
"I'm too married to you not to know."
Count cracked first and chuckled. "The hell does that mean?"
Trigger also started giggling. "No clue. We can find a married couple to ask."
"We'll have to actually get married and find out ourselves."
Trigger laughed harder at that. Then he shelved his amusement and looked pointedly away from the tree, first into his mug and then at Count. "Do you want to commit to the bit?"
"I'd rather commit to you," Count said, and then broke into a grin.
"Nice," Trigger said, turning back into his mug to take a very long draft, and then again at the presents. Count downed his own hot chocolate all at once before it got cold, set it down, and reached for the shape under the tree that had caught Trigger's eye.
"Not so patient, huh?" Trigger said.
"That's rich coming from googly-eyes over here." He handed the wrapped-up object to Trigger. It was the largest one with his name on it.
"You take that one then," Trigger said, pointing to a rather flat square one. Count picked it up and it bent in his hand in a familiar way. Probably an item of clothing.
"Ah shit. Is this what I think it is?"
"Nope," Trigger said immediately, already tearing into his own bundle of paper. Inside would be one of the styrofoam planes, like a gigantic paper airplane with a bit more solidity.
"It even flies well indoors!" Count said when it was revealed, fully expecting to feel it hit his head once it was freed from its box. He, meanwhile, revealed Trigger's gift to be exactly what he thought it was.
He stood up to let the sparkly red dress flop down to full length. "You know, you're lucky I was on a budget." He turned to see an evil grin on his flight lead's face, whether from the dress or the projectile he couldn't be sure. "Do I have to wear this now?"
"Yes."
So Count continued the festivities in a dress rather than a sweater. It was colder than his previous attire. But it made Trigger grin constantly, so maybe it was worth it.
"Anyways," Count said, only to be interrupted by a collision with his forehead. The foam plane bounced backwards and glided gently to the floor.
"Okay, okay, I'll stop tormenting you," Trigger said. "Pick any you like."
So Count (carefully) bent down to pick up another present from Trigger. The man had a sort of sheepish look on his face, for some reason. Nonetheless, aware of Trigger's impatience for gift-opening, he tore through the wrapping. One after another, at Trigger's insistence, he unveiled:
-A miniscule tophat on a headband, which he wore immediately to look more ridiculous
-A razor, to shave his "dumbass goatee" (he did not shave his dumbass goatee on the spot)
-Hair elastics to make a manbun, because apparently it was fine to have long hair but not long facial hair (he called Trigger a dumbass and asked if there'd be makeup in here next)
-A Cyclops-themed military coin
He turned the coin over in his hands. It was deep blue and didn't make much noise when he dropped it on his carpeted floor. He was Strider 2, but he did like this color.
Trigger watched him with bated breath. He kept picking up and dropping the coin like it was a tiny basketball, and smiled. He swore he heard Trigger breathe a sigh of relief.
"What? You think I wouldn't like one of these? I'm a collector, you know."
"Well," Trigger shrugged. "Ack. It was really hard to pick. You know, I can't get just joke gifts, but I wasn't sure if you'd like reminders like this or-"
"Don't overthink it. I'm a simple guy." He dribbled the coin again and tossed it at Trigger to hold. "What else have we got?"
There was a nice, comfy gray-blue sweater he promptly changed into (and out of the dress and headband), and a Strider coin, because he was collecting these. Little did Trigger know, Count had gotten him the exact same thing. He would let him find that out on his own.
There was also a really nice jacket that would be too warm to wear indoors, so he folded it back up.
"By the way, Trigger," he said, "you're gonna wear that dress too. Just once. For my amusement."
"Damn."
Then it was Trigger's turn to open gifts, and he quickly caught on to the theme.
"You really do know me," Trigger said, and Count could not tell if that was serious or sarcasm.
"Uh," he said, "you know. I know you like planes, so I got you planes."
"Yes you did," Trigger nodded, which was still inconclusive and he was starting to get worried - but then he said, "And I love all of these."
"Well, I'm glad! I'll be sure to get a diamond plane ring for our wedding, too."
"Do it," Trigger said without hesitation.
"Be careful with that one," Count said as Trigger reached into a bag. Inside the bag was another gift bag, with its own pile of gift paper.
"I swear if there's a third one," he said, and then he pulled out the wooden F-22. He stopped and turned it over in his hands, admiring the polish. "Where'd you find this?"
"The mall."
"The mall? Like the local one?"
"Yeah. The local one."
"I might have to give the place a look," Trigger said, nodding. "This is pretty."
"Glad you like it."
"Well, obviously. I'm a simple guy."
"Do you just want plane stuff every year?"
"Yeah, why not? I like planes."
"But you've gotta like more than just planes." Count started collecting all the shredded paper littering his floor.
"Get me cookies then."
"Okay, Santa."
"I could pilot the supersonic sleigh," Trigger declared. "I'd be the best Santa."
"You sure would."
They bantered like that for a while longer as the floor was cleaned and they started messing with their gifts, until Trigger nearly broke something with his myriad tiny aircraft. Then it was more hot chocolate, some cookies, a proper dinner after that…
All in all, the perfect Christmas - except that the clouds waited until tomorrow to snow. But tomorrow, Longcaster showed up with a whole roast quail for Count and Trigger to laugh at, so a belated snow was alright.