Chapter Text
When he’d said, “Hey, Bob and Gayle want us to come up for Christmas,” Obi had expected excuses. It’s too far. Flights are expensive. They’re not my family, They’re not really even your family.
He did not expect: “Should I bring cookies?”
There are a half-dozen tins of cookies in the back seat; they’ve made it from Miami to Virginia Beach miraculously intact, despite the fact that two of them contain snickerdoodles.
(”What do you mean I can’t have one,” he whines, “I’m driving.”
“We’re both driving,” Doc claps back, setting the last tin behind his seat. He knows from carrying the first three out that they’re still warm.”You’re just driving first. There’s a difference.”
He turns to her with wide, pleading eyes. She is unmoved. “So what you’re saying is that we each get half a cookie?”
“You can have a cookie when we get there.” She lean through his window, crinkling her nose. He wants to kiss her when she does that, but that’s nothing new. “Think of it as incentive to drive safely.”
Obi slumps dejectedly down in his seat. “I’m always safe.”)
Doc slouches against the passenger-side window, hood pulled over her eyes and legs curled between her body and the dashboard. The sweatshirt is his, of course, stolen in as much as he can call it stealing anymore, and it swallows her whole, sleeves falling inches past her fingertips.
She’s been asleep since they crossed the border, the dulcet tones of late-night Christmas radio having lulled her to sleep. That smarmy Band Aid song comes on just as they pull off the main drag, and she lets out an annoyed grunt, absently twitching in her sleep. It takes three alarms to wake her in the morning, but two bars about how children in Africa don’t know it’s Christmas will make her hit the ground running.
He flicks past it, settling for a station playing a very solemn Silent Night. She settles back in the seat, breath evening out into a deep lull. Her hood shifts slightly askew, and he can see the way her mouth curves in a smile. A warmth spreads through his chest as he remembers how well and truly fucked he is.
What was he thinking, bringing her here? He’s just torturing himself now.
Obi hit the end of the lane and turned into the drive, gravel crunching under the tires and heart in his throat. The light is on, as it always is – never know when someone’s going to need you, son, Bob would say, when Obi complained that it shone right through his window – and the hedges are all decked out in their Christmas glory, but –
But the gate is closed.
His hands shake on the parking brake, matching the flutter in his stomach. Did the forget he was coming? Are they all right?
Did they change their minds?
Obi swallows down his anxiety and crawls out the driver-side door. He’s taller than the last time he was here; not by much, but when he reaches his arm over to flip the latch he doesn’t have to contort himself awkwardly, something he always hated. The gate sags in the middle as the lock releases, and he huffs out a laugh. How long has Bob been saying he’ll fix that? Since before he came along, that’s for sure.
He lifts one side – just don’t let it drag on the drive, Bob would warn them, Gayle’ll be after me about it if it ruins the shells – but before he can nudge at the other to get through, a meaty hand takes it, grunting.
“Sorry about that, son,” Bob says gruffly, heaving the gate to one side. “Gayle was worried you’d try to sneak in with your gal if we just left it open.”
Obi stares, still save for the frantic fluttering in his chest. He knows he only saw them half a year ago, but it strikes him how small Bob is next to him when in his mind he’s a giant, and he – he doesn’t know how to do this. How to be home. If this even is his home.
“Let me take that, kid.” Bob lifts the gate out of his hands. “You’ve had a long drive. Just pull up ‘round the side of the shed.”
He nods, an impressive feat with the lump in his throat, and jogs back to the car. When he emerges again, parked just off the gravel, Bob is waiting.
“Good to see you, son.” For one glorious moment, Obi think he might get away with a handshake until Bob’s arms band around his shoulders in an almost painful bear hug.
“Good to see you too,” he wheezes into Bob’s thinning hair, patting him weakly on the back. When he can breathe again, he stares out at the bay and says, “It’s good to be –”
“Is that them?” someone calls from the porch, anxious, and Bob chuckles.
“No dear,” he replies with a wink. “Just found some real friendly raccoons. Think we can keep them, dear?”
Gravel crunches under slippers, and an all-too familiar voice tuts, “Don’t tease me like that.”
Gayle glares at them, hands fisted on her hips. It’s not cold yet, not really, but that flannel housecoat can’t be actually keeping her warm. “You can’t go and keep the kids all to yourself, Bob.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assures her. “Is your gal in the car, Obi?”
“Yeah, sleeping.” He shrugs, tugging at his shoulder. “I can go get her up.”
A look passes between them, something he’s never quite managed to decipher, and Gayle holds out her arms. “Come on, let me look at you. Have you been eating right?”
A wave of exasperation rolls over him, a protest welling up under his tongue until – until he is arrested by how normal it is, how he wants to heave a sigh just like Kirito does when Shidan tells him not to play pick up in the street, or how Suzu rolls his eyes whenever his mother calls to remind him that Hot Pockets are not a food group. This is something other people get to feel, not – not him.
Or maybe that’s a thing he does now.
He’s interested to find out.
Gayle draws him in, just to arm’s length, and gives him a quick once-over. “Well, you’ve at least been eating,” she declares, grudgingly. “Come here.”
He expects this one – I’m a hugger, Gayle had told him years ago, wrapping her arms around him when he dropped his duffel of worldly possessions at her doorstep – but he’s surprised how fond he is when she tucks her head under his chin, the wiry auburn strands of her hair getting in his mouth and just – everywhere. How much it feels…right.
It wasn’t like this when he was a kid, he’s sure. Or maybe he just didn’t want it to be.
He hears a loud sniffle at his shoulder, and he rears back, alarmed. “Don’t cry!”
“I’ll do what I want, boy.” Gayle wipes at her eyes with the tips of her fingers, delicate. “Now you go get your girl up, and let’s get you to bed.”
She moves away, already bustling to the trunk of his car, but his joints feel stiff, frozen, every muscle tense. Maybe this is a mistake. He not – he’s not ready for –
A steady hand grips his shoulder. “Oh, don’t worry,” Bob tells him, voice pitched low. “You know she always gets a little teary when her kids come home.”
Obi lets out a noise that sounds less like a grunt and more like a wheeze, his hand clutched tight in the fabric over his chest. He didn’t know he could feel this way, so hollow and so full at the same time.
“C’mon now,” Bob laughs, patting him on the back. “Pop the trunk open. You keep Gayle out in her skivvies like this much longer and she’ll catch her death.”
“Bob!” comes Gayle’s scandalized gasp. “Don’t be talking about my skivvies in public.”
His feet finally move. “Got it!” Obi waves his hand,
stepping between them. “Just give me a second, the lock’s a little sticky.”
Shirayuki leans into Obi’s side, feet dragging as Gayle leads them up the stairs. She’s talking holiday plans, her gestures wide and excited, but Shirayuki had trouble following two words out of ten. Obi’s warm, his arm tucked around her waist, and he smells like the snickerdoodle he wheedled out of her when they got through the door. He’s eating it now, doubtlessly getting crumbs in her hair, but it’s – it’s nice.
It’s what she wants.
She muffles a yawn under his shoulder, and she doesn’t miss how his chest rumbles with a laugh he doesn’t let loose. Just for her. She sighs, content to be this close, and his hand rubs soothingly down her side.
“Gonna make it, Doc?” he murmurs around his cookie, the gold of his eyes sliding toward her.
“Wanna sleep,” she groans, shaking her head.
“Soon.” He squeeze her close, smile fond. “We’ll get you snug as a bug.”
“Now, don’t think too much of it.” Gayle wrings her hands as they stop outside a door. “We didn’t take on too many fosters after you, so we never got around to changing it.”
Obi tenses as the door swings open, revealing a room that’s positively spartan next to the rest of the house. There’s no kitschy knick-knacks here, just a dark wood bedroom set and eggshell walls, a black comforter spread over the full-sized bed.
“You kept it the same?” It’s hard to read his tone, he’s trying too hard not to have one.
“Didn’t feel right,” Bob says, just behind them. “Never knowing if you’d come back.”
“We didn’t need it anyway,” Gayle insists. “Only had two or three more after – after, and only for a few months each –”
“Got a little too old for the game.” Bob sidles past them with a wink, putting a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Wanted to rest on our laurels a little, enjoy our retirement.”
Shirayuki puts on a bright smile when it’s clear Obi won’t. “Right. Of course.”
Gayle’s hands flutter nervously, her eyes fixed on Obi’s flat expression. “I hope it’s all right.”
There’s nothing to suggest it wouldn’t be. “A full’s a little small for Obi, but he’ll make do, I’m sure,” she says, laying a hand on his arm. The muscle jumps until her fingers, and Obi shakes himself.
“It’s fine,” he assures her with a smile. It’s strained at the edges, but not – not in a bad way. It’s the same one he gave her when she tried to make him Gayle’s cookies during midterms. “Thanks.”
“Well, I guess this is goodnight then. Let’s let the kids settle in, dear.” Bob pats his wife’s shoulders, guiding her toward the door.
“Let us know if you need anything,” Gayle tells them as she passes. “The towels are where they always are, Obi, and I’m sure you can show Shirayuki where the bathroom is.”
“Oh, um.” Shirayuki lifts herself from Obi’s side, shuffling awkwardly. “Ah, where should I stay?”
Bob and Gayle exchange a look, one that’s faintly amused and strangely fond. A sudden sinking sensation starts in Shirayuki’s stomach.
“Oh, Shirayuki, honey,” Gayle says, taking her hands and patting them gently. “We’re progressive folk here. No need for anyone to wake up to a cold bed if they don’t have to.” She winks.
She winks.
“Y’all have a good night.” She slips away before Shirayuki even has a thought besides ‘what?’ in increasingly dire inflections. “Sleep tight.”
The door closes with a strange sense of finality. “I…” Obi looks as floored as she does, at least. “Do they think…?”
“I thought I said…” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Listen, I’ll just go –”
Shirayuki catches his hand before he can turn, shaking her head. “No, I’m tired.” She leans her head against his chest, letting her body sag against him. “Can we just deal with it tomorrow?”
No ulterior motives here, nope.
He’s still, so still beneath her, and then he sighs, patting her back. “If you don’t mind.”
“It’s not like we haven’t slept together before,” she says before she can stop herself. A bolt of panic goes through her. “I mean, you know, sleeping in the same bed, not –”
He laughs, that low chuckle that makes her stomach knot. Oh, this is going to be inconvenient. “I know what you meant.” He pushes her away, shoving her toward the bed. “I think I’d know if we’d done anything besides sleeping, Doc.” He grins. “The event would be indelible upon my mind, I’m sure.”
You’d be surprised, is something she doesn’t say.
“Dibs on the right side,” she says instead. Obi grunts. “Come on, Obi, it’s only one night!”
“Fine,” he sighs, aggrieved. “Just for tonight.”
Right. Her stomach twists. Just for tonight.