The 12 Dates of Christmas

The One With the Airport (feat. Benedict Cumberbatch)

Elsie had booked her flight for a week ahead of Christmas, hoping to avoid the worst of the holiday travel crowd. She'd finished packing two days before she had to leave to make sure she didn't have to rush. She'd shipped her gifts ahead of her so they wouldn't get lost or damaged by the airline. Everything was taken into account.

So of course, she was going to be late.

She really should have known better than to count on the weather to cooperate. Flight delays lit up people's tempers the same way they lit up the information boards in the terminals. Elsie did her best to avoid interacting with the other passengers around her. Best to keep quiet, keep to herself, and survive.

Still, she was flustered. Her perfect planning was all for naught. She threw her bag over her shoulder and wandered to a bookstore she'd seen. It was one of those "last chance to get your in-flight entertainment" deals. It was after security, but before the gates, and she had a little hike to make to get there. Good thing she had the time.

The selection was thin, and it was crowded. She wandered for a few minutes, but decided she didn't need another trashy novel badly enough to stick around the crowd. She tried to squeeze past an elderly man and escape the store, and she would have made it too, had it not been for her bag catching on a spinning rack of postcards.

The rack teetered. Elsie swore under her breath and reached out to catch it. Too late, though. It tipped right into the back of a tall man who was browsing a shelf, unaware he was in harm's way. She turned red and yanked the rack upright, staring at her shoes and fumbling out an apology.

She never looked up, she just bolted. Over the throngs of people, she thought she may have heard someone call out, but no way was she stopping. She made it back to her gate and sank heavily into a chair, cheeks still burning. She dug through her bag and proceeded to make herself as unnoticeable as possible.

Twenty minutes later, she was recovered from her blunder, four magazine articles deep, and thirsty as hell. What she needed was a vending machine. She was sure she'd seen one close by, and went in search of something to whet her whistle.

Of course once she reached the machine, there was hardly anything left. She punched in the number for the last bottle of water and waited. It dropped with a heavy thunk, and she stepped back to allow herself to bend over and grab it from where it had fallen. In so doing, because she was having the best luck in the world that day, she stepped right on the shoe of the man behind her.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, feeling heat creep, once again, into her cheeks. She averted her eyes and practically ran back to the gate with her water. Hoping to disappear, she found her way to a seat next to the window, rolled her jacket up and stuffed it under her head. She sipped her water and watched the snow come down. It wasn't long before she drifted off, cursing the draft and the cold glass.

Elsie woke what felt like a million years later. She was reluctant to rejoin the waking world, but her neck was stiff. She reached up and prodded at the jacket under her head and readjusted the one draped over her.

Wait.

Her eyes flew open. She didn't recognize the jacket that covered her from chin to thighs. Her brow furrowed as she gazed down at it.

"I didn't mean to cause you any confusion," a pleasant baritone voice that she certainly didn't know said. "It's just that your teeth were chattering out of your head."

Elsie gathered his jacket and handed it back to him, fighting to keep her gaze from lingering an embarrassingly long time. He was tall, and lean, perfectly tousled hair and icy eyes.

"Thank you. That was very kind." She mentally patted herself on the back for managing to for a coherent sentence.

"It was nothing. I just thought your day had been difficult enough, between the delay and the energy it must take to constantly commit minor assaults on the same man...You must be tired."

Oh my god. Suddenly Elsie wished she had his coat back so she could disappear under it and never come out. She squeezed her eyes shut. "The postcard rack in the bookstore?"

He smirked. "Me."

Her shoulders slumped, and she opened one eye to look at him, cringing. "The vending machine?"

He waved at her. "Hello."

"Please tell me I didn't punch you in my sleep."

He chuckled and leaned back in his seat. "No, but you have a mean kick."

"Seriously?" Elsie was horrified.

"Not even a little," he reassured her, laughing quietly.

"I am so sorry about my unintentional attacks."

"Make it up to me?"

Her cheeks were pink and she knew it.

"How?"

"We're stuck here for a while. Let me buy you a coffee, and keep me company?"

"Gladly. I'm Elsie, by the way." She put her hand out, and he took it. A spark shot up her arm.

Static. She'd assaulted him again. She could have died.

"Electric Elsie," he laughed, deeply, clutching his hand like he'd been burned. "Well, I'm Ben, and I'd still very much like to buy you coffee."

Elsie had booked her flight for a week ahead of Christmas. She'd finished packing two days before she had to leave. She'd shipped her gifts ahead of her. Everything was taken into account.

So of course, she was sitting stranded in the airport, sipping coffee, laughing so hard her belly hurt, praying the snow storm would last just a little longer.