It was a match made in heaven.
Oliver was sitting at the bar, staring at Aberlour as he walked over to the fridge. One eyebrow was raised in inquiry.
“My mom,” Aberlour whispered, pulling the phone away from his ear just long enough that he missed the beginning of her next sentence.
“—not what it used to be,” his mother complained.
“What was that, Mom? I lost you for a second,” he lied.
“I said, you’d do well to. Your father’s health is not what is used to be.”
“Is there something wrong with Dad?” Aberlour asked, despite knowing what her answer was going to be. He grabbed a beer from the fridge while he waited.
“No, but we’re not 20 anymore! We might not be around much longer, and I’d like to see my son before I end up in a box!” She wasn’t yelling, but she was talking loud enough that Oliver heard her response. He smiled and shook his head. Abe rolled his eyes in return.
“Mom, please! I promise I’ll do my best,” he stated firmly.
“You’d better!” she replied, equally as stubborn, if not twice as much as he was. She could out stubborn a mule.
“I love you. I’ll see you at Christmas,” he said, as he closed his eyes and bit back a sigh of impatience.
“I love you too. I’ll make cookies,” she promised, sounding pleased with the outcome and then she ended the call.
“Mama Aberlour pissed?” Oliver asked as Aberlour set his phone down on the counter.
“Yeah. Haven’t been home in a few years, so she’s playing the classic ‘we’re getting old’ card to get me up there for Christmas,” he replied. He turned and grabbed one more beer from the fridge. He handed this one over to Oli before leaning over the counter to watch the ongoing tournament from the kitchen. Abe had been replaced by Ghost, and he was silently—but mercilessly—kicking Marcus’ ass.
“You should go,” Oli said, like it was just that simple.
It was, in truth. They had plenty of days of leave saved up and they weren’t being deployed again until mid-January. Aberlour had more than enough time to drive home, celebrate Christmas, and return to base before his next assignment. He didn’t really have a valid reason for avoiding his parents’ house since his enlistment.
He just had.
“I can come with,” Oli said, shrugging. “Anything to avoid spending Christmas on my parents’ yacht, getting an earful from my mom.”
“Seasick?” Aberlour joked.
“Nowhere to run.”
Aberlour snorted.
It was a familiar moment. He and Oliver, staring at each other, trying to ease each other’s burdens, and Team Specter wreaking havoc in the background. Lots of times like these had been shared in a war zone, but the truth was that it hardly mattered where they were—Afghanistan or Oliver’s kitchen—because the feeling was the same. Aberlour smiled gratefully at Oliver as he nodded.
“My mother would love that. Two boys to smother for the price of one!”
Oliver laughed and then tipped his beer back to take another swig.
“Fair warning, my friend. Mothers love me. You might be the second favourite by the time we leave.”
Aberlour snorted but shrugged.
“I probably already am, so that’s not a problem.”
Oliver chuckled in agreement and knocked his beer bottle against Abe’s.
Just like that, they had a plan. They’d be heading to Aberlour’s parents’ house for Christmas.
“Never been to West Virginia,” Oliver said. He’d turned to watch the tournament again, although it was pointless. It was clear who the winner would be.
