Midnatt i vinter
Name: Midnatt i vinter || Midnight in winter
Author: marionetteblue3
Recipient: marcherpig
Rating: G
Warnings: IT'S. SO. FLUFFY.
Summary: In which Berwald is late, forget's the present and so makes do with a candle, whilst Mikkel get's tanked. All the damned Swede's fault.
A/N: My motto is "better late than never," and omfg i'm so sorry it's latelatelalate. /has no excuse.
Mikkel immediately jumped off Berwald's sofa when there came a soft rapping on the door. He flung the door open just as Berwald was twisting the key, almost knocking the unsuspecting Swede over. Berwald just managed to keep the two cups of coffee upright in an amazing show of reflex but unfortunately, the fresh pastries could not be salvaged. Berwald frowned, his brows furrowing. They had smelled so good.
“You don’t have to go,” Mikkel asserted in greeting, snatching the two cups of coffee and the newly empty plate. He gave Berwald a minuscule push into the room, and closed the door on the fallen pastries.
Berwald sighed in exasperation. “Slow d'wn.”
Mikkel ignored him and went on, “It’s Christmas, Sve, you really don't need ta go.”
“An’ you can go buy me more pastries. I like them strawberry flavoured.”
Mikkel waved him off offhandedly. “I’ll make a fucking hundred of those pastries you claim love, so you stay, eat, fatten up, and ignore that conference.”
Berwald’s frown deepened. “Can’t.”
“We’ve been planning this forever," Mikkel whined, and Berwald struggled not to break into a smile.
“Yer being difficult, Den. I’ll be back before Christmas.”
“Huh.” The Dane flopped onto the hotel’s pristinely kept bed in annoyance, his shoes hanging off the side. “You're probably not needed there anyway. A conference like that--- you're just fer show, Sve."
Sometimes, Berwald really wanted to throttle the Dane whatever makes him act like a dick. Instead, he knelt down in front of his suitcase, rummaging until he found a manila folder thick with documents. He tossed it Mikkel’s way and took a seat next to him on the bed, cupping the coffee with his hands. His glasses fogged up immediately. “C'n't ignore it, Den.”
Mikkel flicked briefly through the documents and raised an eyebrow at him. Since when was the Swede comfortable with him rifling through documents that were almost entirely confidential? “You’re city… is it in any danger?”
“Doesn’t matter if it isn't. Responsibility’s m’ne.”
“The hell, don’t you have your SÄPO for this?”
Berwald snorted. “Righ'."
“So… Point being you’ll rather spend your Christmas in Moscow than with me?”
It was a pointless attempt to get a rise out of the Swede and they both knew it. Berwald gave him a half hearted glare more out of habit than true irritation, and was met with an intent gaze. Berwald quickly gulped the rest of his coffee down. One awkward silence later, Mikkel seemed to have caved in. To reason.
“Fine. I’ll send ya to the airport.”
Berwald’s lips twitched into an almost smile.
“Th’nks. Flights n’t ‘till twelve. M’ hungry.”
“Twelve? Wasn’t the conference at 3?”
“Don’t care. ’s get a burger.”
Mikkel didn't comment on it, so they donned their overcoats, scarves and gloves and headed out to the cold of Södermalm. The streets were filled with people hustling around, carrying last minute Christmas shopping and the likes, battling against the fierce winds. Berwald shivered. Snow was overrated. “Sh’ld I get m’ car?”
“Nah, leave your Benz. I got it.”
Berwald squinted through the snow, but saw no trace of Mikkel’s rusty old Toyota. However, there was a familiar red bicycle resting on the footpath. Berwald stared at it with disbelief. It was irrefutably Mikkel’s. He watched as the Dane clambered on, petting the backseat expectantly. Berwald didn’t move.
‘Yer jokin’.”
“What? Need to exercise the Yuletude fat away okay? Besides, I like bikes.”
“No. S’ cold.”
“Just get on, princess.”
Berwald gave an exasperated glare, but carefully sat himself at the back, muttering something about freezing to death. He didn’t know whether the Dane heard or not, but he was ignored either way. Now he was faced with the task of putting his hands somewhere.
“Hands on hips; as much as I love you caressing my ass, you’ll fall off.”
The Swede quickly took his hands off the seat. He was not flushing. He gripped the Dane’s coat, feeling more awkward than usual. This was an entirely new experience for him, and two grown men on a single bicycle was bound to attract attention... oh god. Berwald started to regret this as soon as Mikkel started to ride. How had he been talked into this again?
It didn’t seem to deter him that he had another passenger behind him, and Mikkel strove to ride in inhumane speeds, breaking several dozen-road rules in the process. Berwald’s hands, now latching onto his coat was laced with a layer of snow and was absolutely frozen. He buried his head into Mikkel's coat, and for some reason, Mikkel slowed down.
"We'll take your car to Arlanda airport, yeah?"
Berwald didn't reply. He was busy trying not to freeze to death. When the Dane wrapped curled his hands around his, Sweden quickly shook him off. But he still felt warmed, and Mikkel only laughed at his red tinged cheeks.
~*~~*~*~**~*
The conference was disastrous. Firstly because the venue had changed, and then some idiot forgot to alert Berwald about this. One hour and several dozen calls to the various idiots responsible later, he finally arrived to find that he wasn't even needed. The documentation of his speech was already been read out by some obscure politician he didn't know personally. In the end, his presence was just a show that the Swedish government cared. Which Berwald now suspects they don't.
Still, he couldn't get away.
In fact the meeting went overtime, and when Berwald tried to phone Mikkel, the traitorous device ran out of battery and beeped itself shut.
He tried to explain that he had a flight that he needed to catch but was only met with a patronizing scoff and the order to at least stay until the break. Berwald ignored him, but still missed his flight. The next one was 2 hours later. Shit.
It was then it suddenly occurred to him that he had forgotten to buy Mikkel’s present. And he was already 2 hours late and with a flight that was about to take off in around half an hour. Panicked, he realized that his only solution would have to be Duty Free. With some trepidation, he walked through the shelves, now with the intention to dish out some seriously money to make up for his thoughtlessness.
After a while of shifting through aisles and aisles of purfumes, chocolates, jewellery and vodka, he was tempted to just buy the most expensive aquavit he could fine and wrap it with pretty paper. In fact, that was what he would have done if he hadn’t caught sight of that pretty candle he found in a gift shop. It was cream colored with intricate little patterns engraved in red. It was also sandalwood scented and so pathetic he had to buy it before he changed his mind and went back with a bottle of aquavit that he was sure the Dane had hoards of stocked in his impressively extensive cellar in Copenhagen.
He got the shopkeeper to wrap the candle in a vibrant red with white ribbons, just so it looked both Christmassy and… just for sake of it. As soon as she finished, the final boarding call for fligh to Stockholm was made, and Berwald tossed a few rubles onto the counter, thanked her and ran out without taking the change.
His phone was still criminally out of battery.
~*~~*~
The trip back was torturous. He felt out of his mind with guilt and worry, and perhaps irritating for letting Mikkel affect his mood like this. Damned Dane. How Mikkel must be taking this right now. Berwald drew out the present again, mulling over whether to give it to the Dane or not. It was sandalwood scented and the pretty white ribbon on the red box made it look like the Danish flag and… It was kind of pathetic. Berwald growled in frustration and shoved the offending box back into his pockets. He didn't even know if he would have a chance to give it. He wondered whether Mikkel would bother waiting for him or whether he would just take the next train back to Copenhagen or maybe even to Oslo… He didn’t know whether that would just be better. By now he was 4 hours late.
When he finally arrived at Arlanda airport, he had all but flew to the taxi stands (outrageously overprices fares be damned) and hopped into the first one taxi he saw. Swedish he felt he hadn't used in a long time flew out.
“Södermalm --- Om du skyndar dig, betalar jag dig extra.”
The driver laughed at his, but they were off. She must have taken the extra money seriously because her driving was reminiscent to Denmark’s riding.
“Åker tilbaka til familjen för jul, hva?” she asked offhandedly, making a sharp right turn that sent Berwald reeling onto the door
“T-ta inte kål på oss bara.”
Speeding on Christmas Eve probably wasn’t the best idea either. Once the taxi was parked in his driveway (he payed 550 kronor and his wallet was felt considerably lighter) he bolted to his front door and flung it open to meet… nothing.
Darkness - the dining room was empty. The house was probably empty. Berwald sank down onto his sofa, suddenly feeling drained and inexplicably distraught. What had he been expecting?
He stood up to press himself an espresso from the machine, but stood there for a moment. He was certain that was music. He walked to the living room and turned the lights on, surprised to see Mikkel’s phone and gloves on the sofa. Forgotten them when he stormed out?
He opened the phone and found an unsent message to him.
Vor er du? komme tilbage?
Feeling somewhat between horrible and terrible, Berwald left the phone on the couch and went into the kitchen. It was Håkan Hellström's "Kom igen Lena" playing. He was greeted with a sight that made him feel just that bit worse.
Piles and piles of food were stacked up in a beautiful array of Christmas themed plates, only waiting to be displayed on his dining room table and savored by the Dane and the Swede that never arrived.
It smelled delicious, and familiar to the Dane's cooking as he was, it probably tasted delicious too. Berwald couldn't bring himself to be hungry. Instead he just sat on his needlessly large kitchen bench. He drew the little box holding his lame little present out and wondered whether he should just throw it out. It suddenly dawned to him that he really wasn't used to pissing people he cared about off so royally and god, what was he supposed to do? In the end, he slipped the offending box back into his pocket.
He noted dully that it was snowing outside... And that the light in his balcony was still on.
Not allowing himself to hope, he all but flung himself upstairs to the patio.
"Herregud."
Of course he was there, barely awake and curled up round a cognac. Slumped over the table and nursing his beer. Berwald wants to apologize, wants to beg him to somehow understand that he never felt worse about not turning up, wants to tell him how much he loved the other, but no words came out, because no words ever came out when they were supposed to for him. The Dane had noticed him., and Mikkel was smiling blearily in greeting. Berwald enveloped him in a hug, deciding that Mikkel looked too drunk to remember anything tomorrow. “Knew you’d come back. Norgy said ya wouldn’t, said it was -hic- futile, said I was an idiot. But you said that - you said that you would.”
Mikkel had to be the sweetest idiot there ever was.
Sweden tightens his hold, and Denmark smiles. Perhaps it was time for bed. Sweden tries to lift him up bridal style, and Denmark murmurs, “not a fucking fairy.”
“Sleep with me t’night,” he offers, hoisting him up by the shoulders instead. But Denmark pushes him off and drags him back into the living room. He was wearing his sloppy grin, and his breath smelled horrible, but all that mattered was that he didn't seem angry.
"Dance?"
Känn ingen sorg för mid Göteborg was playing softly in the background, and when Denmark awkwardly pulls him around, he almost trips over, but he has never felt more elated because Denmark was still here. And it was then that he realized that he never really left.
~*~
Och fram kom där den gamla Gam
och nog så skulle jag förat fort fram
Translations:
[Swedish]
Om du skyndar dig, betalar jag dig extra - And if you're fast, I'll pay you extra
Åker tilbaka til familjen för jul, hva? - Going back to family for christmas, huh?
Ta inte kål på oss bara - Just don't kill us both.
[Danish]
Vor er du? Komme tilbage? - Where are you? Coming back?
Otherwise, they are speaking english because neither of them likes the others language much.