Title: Snow Bound Pairing: Ryan/Greg Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Don't own them, probably can't afford to buy them either! Summary: A different take on the Ryan/Greg relationship. Ryan stared out the large, dirty window in front of him. The snow had been falling steadily for hours, covering any exposed surface with a crystalline, pure coating of white. He'd been sitting there for most of the afternoon, waiting through delay after delay of his flight, becoming more and more unglued as he watched the runways disappear below the white blanket. What had started as a the nervous butterflies in his stomach, those he always got before a flight and those that could usually be quashed with enough drinks in an airport bar, had progressed to full-out panic. He sat there, in the dirty, too-small seat, covered in a sheen of sweat, leg bouncing unconsciously. He'd been thinking, for at least the last hour or so, that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to miss Christmas, that maybe Pat would forgive him, that maybe, all this snow was a sign. Or maybe it was all an excuse. Ryan never liked to fly, and taking the job in London had done nothing to ease that feeling. Flying back and forth, several times a year, had built up a strange, superstitious side to his personality, a side that hadn't been there before. He'd found it easier and easier to make excuses not to get on the plane. But, he also relished the lifestyle afforded by his infrequent trips to England, and he forced himself to board the plane each time, justifying that someday he'd be able to buy himself a boat and just sail there each time he was needed. He sucked down yet another drink, having long abandoned the barstool in favor of taking his drink to the window to watch the snow. He didn't know what to do. Everything in his mind and body told him that he'd be a deadman if he stepped onto a plane today, but everything in his heart told him that he owed it to his wife to be home for Christmas. She hadn't even wanted him to fly over for this taping, but Ryan wasn't in a position yet to pick and choose his jobs, and he'd left, assuring her that he'd be back in plenty of time to have Christmas together. As if some greater power were watching him and feeling his indecision, the loudspeaker voiced out suddenly, "Attention all passengers, due to the inclement weather, and the foreseen forecast, the airport will be closing for the day and all flights are now canceled. Thank you and happy holidays." Ryan settled back into his chair and took the first deep breath he had in hours. Before it ever occurred to him to be sad that he wouldn't spend Christmas with his wife, all that he could feel was relief. Well, relief, and the sudden realization that he was very drunk. He was silently pleased that the decision had been made for him, and decided to get the inevitable out of the way before he set out into the wild, white yonder. He wandered the corridor for a bit before stumbling across a phone that would allow overseas calling. He rung the operator and made the arrangements to have the call connected, and he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall to wait, as he heard the distant ringing on the other end of the line. "Hello?" came Pat's tired voice, but before he could speak, the operator interjected, "Patricia Stiles? I have an international collect call from a Ryan Stiles, do you accept the charges?" "Yes, yes, of course." she said, as Ryan realized that he should have been nearly home by now, and he hadn't actually thought to call and even say he was delayed earlier. He heard the click of the operator disconnecting, took a deep breath, and prepared himself for what was to come. "Honey?" he asked, tentatively and trying to hide his drunkenness. "I'm so sorry. It has been snowing here all day, they delayed my flight, and now they closed the airport and I'm stuck until at least tomorrow." he stammered quickly, wanting to get it all out before she could react. He thought he could hear a soft sigh on the other end as he finished. "Are you drunk?" she asked, not even trying to hide the frustration and disappointment from her voice. "Um....yeah, a little bit. I had a few while waiting for my flight....to calm my nerves.....you know." he replied, his voice small and childlike, realizing he was being scolded. "Well, I'm not sure what to say, but I guess there's nothing we can do about it now, is there?" she clipped, and continued, "What are you going to do?" "I, uh, I don't know, I hadn't thought of that. Uh, I'll figure something out." "Well, please be safe. I worry about you...." she softened, "...and I miss you love." "I miss you too honey, and I will call you in the morning when I figure out my flight changes." Ryan replied, and finished with, "I love you." "I love you too, Merry Christmas." "Merry Christmas." and with that, he replaced the receiver in it's cradle and slid down the wall, coming to rest on the floor with his knees pulled up tight to his chest. Suddenly he felt awfully alone. He was trapped in a big, fairly unfamiliar city, alone, on Christmas eve. He thought about getting a hotel, but it was a holiday and, frankly, he didn't have too much money. So he sat there, slumped against the wall, head hung. He supposed he could just stay in the airport for the night, but his back begged him to come up with a better arrangement. As he racked his alcohol plagued mind, his thoughts returned again and again to one man, the squirrely American who now made his home here in London. Maybe Greg could take him in for the night, he thought distantly as he pulled himself up off the floor again. 'Greg's a good guy', Ryan reasoned to himself as he reached for the phone, 'he won't mind the company....unless he already has company.' Strangely, the last thought formed a knot in his stomach, powerful enough to hunch him over in pain. He regained his bearings, blaming the last moment on the alcohol and standing up too fast, and he picked up the phone again. Again ringing the operator, he asked to be connected to Greg, and waited expectantly as the phone rang. "Speak." the nasally voice on the other end ordered. The operator went through the routine of confirming the call and the phone clicked quietly before Ryan heard, "What is it Stiles? This had better be good?" "Uh, hi Greg. Can I ask you a favor? You see, its snowing, and they closed the airport, and I'm stuck here, and.....can I come stay with you?" Ryan again rushed through, trying hard to not sound as desperate as he felt. "Are you drunk?" Greg asked incredulously, and Ryan tried to stifle a laugh at the irony of the conversation before simply answering, "A little." "So, let me get this straight.....you're stuck in London, you're drunk, and you want me to come out in this fucking weather and rescue you?" "Please?" The word escaped without any attempts to hide the desperation this time. "Alright, I'll be there in an hour. You'd better be outside waiting, or I might just keep driving." "Thanks." Ryan said, realizing it fell on dead ears as he heard the dial tone on the other end. The next hour passed quickly as Ryan, suddenly feeling quite energized, found a comfortable seat in an airport pub and drank and watched the snow continue to fall outside. As he watched it all pile up, the clean sheet of white, he felt peace rather than fear of just a few hours earlier. He was excited by the prospect of spending the evening with Greg, a man he'd watched from a distance and admired greatly. Greg was so intelligent, so cutting, so.....real. As the hour drew on, Ryan found himself lost in a daydream about Greg. He watched as the other man slowly removed his glasses and set them on the small kitchen table. He raised his glass of wine, draining it and slowly licking the rim before placing it back on the table. He watched, silently as Greg crossed the distance between them, taking Ryan's hand in his, and pulling him to his feet. Ryan felt Greg's hands on his hips as he pulled him closer and closer, their bodies touching and their breath mingling. At last, Greg's lips met his, the taste of tobacco and red wine still fresh on the other man's kiss. As their lips parted, Ryan opened his eyes to see the gentle snowfall outside Greg's window. "Would you like another beer?" a voice asked, snapping Ryan back to reality. He glanced at his watch and furrowed his brow. "No, thanks. I have to go." he stammered, rising and pulling on his coat in one fluid motion before racing out of the pub and down the corridor. He flung open the airport door just in time to see Greg's tiny sedan approaching the drop-off area. Not slowing in his pace, he crossed the busy sidewalk and made it to the curb just as Greg had pulled to a stop. After getting his bag loaded into the back, he slid into the front seat and pulled the door closed before turning to look at his driver. Greg grinned back at him, toothy and genuine, before simply saying, "Hi." The next few hours passed quickly, as both men realized they didn't know the other very well. They had alot to talk about, both holding many interests outside of the show that employed them. Greg told him a little about why he'd chosen life in England, most of which was political, and most of which Ryan couldn't argue with. Ryan told Greg about how he'd gotten into improv, about his friend Colin, and about growing up in Canada. Their conversation was easy, fueled somewhat by the collection of empty wine bottles that now littered Greg's coffee table. His apartment was exotic, as far as Ryan was concerned. It was a small loft, with giant windows that overlooked a park. He had little furniture, a bed, a couch, a coffee table, and a few folding chairs, but it was a beautiful space. The power had gone out hours earlier, as the storm had worsened, and the men had found an assortment of candles around the apartment and had placed them on nearly every flat surface they could find. The soft light afforded by the candles lent to even further romanticize the room for Ryan. The night had continued and a mixture of alcohol and the marijuana Greg had produced an hour or so ago, had left both men lying back lazily on the couch watching the snow continue to fall. Ryan studied Greg there in the candle light, faintly remembering his daydream of earlier. He'd watched this man for a long time, longing to really get to know him, and now that he had, he did not find himself disappointed. Greg was everything Ryan had imagined him to be, and Ryan found himself drawn to the other man even more strongly. He turned back to the snow, wondering at the magic. He pulled himself up and walked to the window where he stood, looking down at the park below, so pure and beautiful with its snow cover. He could lose himself easily in this man. So intent was his attention, that he didn't even notice that Greg had come up behind him until he felt the other man's arms wrap around his waist. Ryan's breath caught in his throat, afraid if he were to breath out, the moment would be gone. Greg remained, however, and he held Ryan gently, the taller man's back pressed snugly to his chest. Ryan could feel Greg's soft breath on the back of his neck, a sensation that sent tingles up and down his spine. He felt Greg move his head closer, resting it on his shoulder before leaning so that his lips barely touched Ryan's ear. "Tonight." he whispered. Not a question, not a command, just a statement before he took Ryan's earlobe gently between his teeth. Ryan's knees buckled slightly at the touch and he took one last glimpse of the snow covered innocence that lay below before turning into the other man's embrace. fin 12/24/05