E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
ARCHIVE: Ask, please.
RATING: PG-13
POSTED: Dec. 24, 2006
SUMMARY: He knew her well enough already that he could tell she was lying.
AUTHOR NOTES: Written as a stocking stuffer for Pouncer in the Yuletide 2006 Challenge. Takes place post-movie. I owe Jenlev so many thanks for all the last-minute beta duties.
DISCLAIMER: Read
Her apartment was already glowing with every light she had, but with each new strand of sparkling color that came to life against the night darkness outside her windows, Freya's smile grew. Maybe almost two months wasn't long enough to make June ready for this to be a family holiday, and maybe that hurt a little more than Freya had expected, but she was going to have a real Christmas this year.
The lights blurred, turning into rainbow halos before she blinked to force her eyes to clear. She wasn't going to cry over a tree, not even this one. No, she -- Freya McAllister, secret telepath and NSA asset -- was going to have the brightest, most colorful and absolutely normal Christmas tree this apartment had ever seen.
Nonetheless...
"It is not 'a man's job,'" she said firmly as she settled back against the edge of her table. "I've strung lights on a tree before, you know."
"No, I do not know. Among other things. Also, I don't believe I ever said it was a man's job."
Freya tilted her head, and the angle was almost mirrored by Brendan's when he slid out from behind the huge Douglas fir that they'd hauled up and into her living room that afternoon. His eyes narrowed when she opened her mouth, and his free hand came up to point a finger at her.
"You say I was thinking it," he told her, "I'll just say that you're a dirty liar." A smirk kicked up the side of his mouth. "No witnesses."
She shook her head, an amused sigh escaping her as she watched his smirk expand, satisfaction coming off him in waves even before she heard, Ha. Gotcha, there. It'll only work when you're alone with her, of course, which really doesn't happen enough, but good one, Brendan. Remember that.
As that last part sank in, she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.
He stiffened, his eyes widening and his teeth closing over his lower lip, and, O-kay, yeah, she's listening now. Time to be done being smug. Think about...songs. Jingle Bells. Or anything else involving bells and ringing and ding-dong the-- Hrm, no, that's not headed the right place.
"So," he said quickly, ducking away from her and back into the tree as she covered a snicker with a cough. "You got any Christmas albums hidden in the many places I haven't seen, or are we going to have to make a trip to HMV, too?"
"I...don't." She frowned, but not about the lack of music.
Places I haven't seen... He had been over several times, now, more than once simply to visit, not for any work purpose, and yet. They had come to an official agreement just the other week that she wouldn't try to read him ("I can't help it when you're thinking so loud." "Just kick me when I do that, okay?" "Kick you, or hit you with a newspaper?" "Hey, no, not a dog, here."), but was she also protecting herself by deliberately keeping him out of areas of her apartment? She knew better than anyone that all he needed was a glance to know almost everything about anything he saw. Was she unconsciously heading that off here in order to limit him in what he could know about her?
"Well, you do kind of get bombarded with it all over the city these days," Brendan said as he twined more twinkling lights around branches right up against the trunk, oblivious to what he'd started in her head. "And that's without overhearing all the people who've been earwomed with whatever reindeer-related musak they didn't leave behind in Macy's. That's gotta drive you a special kind of nuts."
Freya flinched slightly -- instinct, not thought, running her body in that moment -- and her hands came up off her elbows to hug her arms. Feeling her breathing quicken, she shook her head once, again, harder. She only hazily saw Brendan round the far side of the tree again as she tried to throw off the memory of pills and fear and--
"Hey."
That was soft, unexpectedly close. Her head came up and Brendan was right in front of her: bent forward and peering into her eyes with a worried frown creasing his forehead. Catching her breath, she just barely heard, What'd I do? before he gently asked, "What is it?"
"I..." Oh god. He didn't need to know. Not that. "Nothing. I'm just, I'm cold," she said, giving him the best smile she had in her.
He leaned back, but his frown didn't go away, so she pushed off from the table -- making him move back even more -- and put a hand to her stomach and tried another tack. "Lightheaded, too. When did we have lunch?"
That's not it.
But the frown disappeared behind a rueful laugh as he said, "Long enough ago that just the word 'lunch' makes me hungry."
And even though she was looking right into his eyes, if she hadn't heard that short, shrewd thought, she never would have known that he knew her well enough already that he could tell she was lying.
They ordered in from the deli down the block, Freya agreeing quickly when Brendan said he just wasn't up for facing the throngs outside again yet. While he was distracted with the phone, she gathered up the remaining lights in her arms, and she skipped away when he turned with a sharp noise of surprise.
"It's my tree," she said reasonably, slipping behind it to avoid his lunge.
"I've got a system!" he protested from beyond all the needles and lights. "It's highly involved and...and requires diagrams if you're not familiar with it!"
She almost let out a sigh filled with the relief that flooded her at his half-joking tone, a clear sign that no matter what he might be thinking, he wasn't going to pursue that uncomfortable lapse. Instead, she laughed and took one more step toward the far side of the tree, where...something was off in front of her. Mouth pursing, she reached for one the lights already in place.
"Nuh-uh!"
She froze at the warning in his voice. "What?"
He ordered, "No touching, young lady."
Freya squinted, trying to see through the tree, but all the dense branches that they had admired on the lot were totally in the way. How in the world did he-- With an impatient huff, she reached in and pushed one of the branches down far enough to let her see him standing there eyeing the tree with his hands on his hips, and that was silly enough to make her tease.
"Brendan, did you install sensors back here?"
"Yes," he immediately said, sounding entirely serious, and a laugh escaped her before she heard, Gotta love windows. And then, softer, God, she has a really nice--
She spun around, and the rest of his thought stopped like he'd cut himself off. Sure enough, her reflection was clear as a video in the window with the blinds up, offering up a perfect view of her bending over to reach into the tree, including of how her sweater hiked up a few inches in the position. A hot flush washed over her, which was ridiculous; she'd shown more skin in a t-shirt.
"That's cheating!" Her voice wasn't very strong on that, but she tried to back it up by glaring through the tree. He grinned back at her, some march-like tune running through his head.
"No, no, noooo," he said with a wink. "Ingenuity. Using the environment to my advantage." He paused for a modest nod, and then said, "Us field agents are good at that."
When she yanked her hand away, the branch snapped back into position, once again obscuring her view of the rest of the room -- and the man standing in it.
"There's still a gap in the lights," she muttered, and she started draping the first new strand in the bare spot and did her best to not think about how those lights heightened the glitter in Brendan's eyes.
She had every string they'd bought up and twinkling by the time the doorbell sounded. All she was going was standing back and admiring, and once she smelled the food, she all but snatched the bag out of Brendan's hands.
"Um, you do know half of that is mine. Right?"
"Yeah, yeah, but the NSA is paying for it," she reminded him, turning in a slow circle. The table was clear; it would make sense to spread everything out there. She looked at the tree, then at Brendan's half-smile, and then sank smoothly down to sit cross-legged on the floor.
Whoa.
She glanced up, surprised, but Brendan's lips were pressed together and he was staring down at her with a bemused look. Freya felt the flush rise again. It had sounded like he'd breathed that word, not like he'd thought it.
He cleared his throat before she could decide what to do or say. "Picnic style, okay, that works for me," he said cheerfully.
Feeling oddly shy, Freya only shrugged. "I like the lights."
He dropped down next to her and snagged the bag from her loose grasp. "They're really pretty," he said, pulling out all their food piece by piece and spreading it in front of them. 'Pretty.' Jesus, way to be descriptive.
Taking her soup, the last thing out of the bag, she gave in to a soft smile. "Yeah."
Brendan cocked his head. Is she humoring me? God, the words I use around her, sometimes. She'd never know that I graduated with honors, which, sure, tell her that, why don't you? Then he huffed out a breath, and picked up his sandwich. "I always snuck down to look at the tree when everyone was asleep and all the other lights were off." Biting into his sandwich, he tilted his head back to look up to the top of the tree beside them. "It was more sparkly then," he said around a mouthful. Oh yeah, 'sparkly.' Brilliant.
Freya ducked her head, using the excuse of taking the lid off her container to hide a wider smile. She could almost see little bright-eyed Brendan Dean gaping up at a big tree in a...something. She didn't know. Had he lived in a house? An apartment? In the city? Where? He said 'down,' so someplace with multiple floors, but--
"So, really, what was that earlier?" he asked. Just like that.
She stared, swallowed the soup in her mouth automatically, and almost wished that she hadn't, because it almost came right back up. "Wh-what?"
He still didn't look at her, keeping his eyes on the colors twinkling happily against the darkness. And she was honestly afraid to read him.
"Was it the comment about going crazy from all the peppy music?"
"I..." She needed to say something, to stop him. She needed to breathe.
Brendan's shoulders moved with his own deep breath. "That would be logical," he said slowly, putting down his sandwich and scooting around to face her directly. "Dr. Welles told me about the years you'd spent at that hospital, Brecker--"
"Brookridge," Freya choked out, quickly putting down the soup container and trying to focus over his shoulder, on the tree, on anything but him.
His hand shot out. It was hot when it gripped her arm, and she couldn't stop it -- their eyes locked.
"It's okay, Freya. Breathe," he urged, the concern back in his eyes full force, and with it came his thoughts again. Panicking, shit, nail on the head, Brendan, good going. Come on, say something, you idiot. "I was just saying that because it's, hell, it's what you say at this time of year. I didn't--"
He grimaced, his hand rubbing her arm now, and all his thoughts and words started tripping over themselves, even as her own breathing did start to steady. Maybe, she thought giddily, they cancelled each other out.
"I think it's amazing, that you're amazing," so completely amazing, "for getting through that, when no one knew," how did she not end up really crazy? "when you were all alone. I wouldn't do that--"
"I know," she finally broke in; Brendan obviously wasn't going to stop on his own. She pulled in another breath at the same time as he did, and his came out on a sigh.
"You know?" he asked without letting go of her arm.
She nodded hard enough that her hair fell into her face. Even when the panic had first hit, she'd known he wasn't intentionally trying to hurt her.
His face creased with a confused frown that made him look so young. "Then what...?"
Freya rubbed at her eyes with her free hand, only somewhat surprised that there weren't any tears to wipe away. "I don't know," she admitted. "It's like my body, it just... No one knows. No one except Michael--"
"And your sister," Brendan interrupted.
"And June." Freya nodded again, but then shook her head. "But she doesn't really know. And I don't think about it, it doesn't do any..."
"What?"
She licked her lips, and one part of her noticed the way his eyes dropped to her mouth, darkening, but mostly she was fighting the urge to give in to hysterical laughter at what had just occurred to her. "Any good," she whispered.
He moved even closer, confusion and concern battling hard on his face. Damn it, what did I say now?
"You didn't say anything!" she gasped, wanting to reassure him.
"What? Oh." His face went blank as he realized she was reading him right then, but cleared faster than she could begin to worry. A shaky smile flickered across his mouth. "So," he said, letting go of her arm and drawing his hand back, "you want to explain, then?"
Freya missed his touch, the support of it, immediately. She swayed, wanting, but held up her own hand to hold him off when he quickly moved to stabilize her; she shouldn't rely on...on anyone.
"I'm fine," she told him, glad to hear that her voice was even and strong.
Right, and I own a bridge.
She shook her head at him and his thought. "I just realized this is another time when Michael is right."
Brendan's head cocked, and his mouth opened, shut, and then, "Okay, what?"
It made her laugh. He made her laugh. "Sorry." Her hand dropped into her lap and she focused down on it; it was easier to not look at him. "It's like when I was first hearing thoughts, but not. I mean, I tried to ignore it, not think about it, but I couldn't not hear the voices, or think about them, and that's not anything like this, but how to fix it, is. I have to think about it, or I'll never get over it."
He'd been silent throughout her babbling, and she had no idea if she'd made any sense to anyone but herself. When she raised her head, though, holding her breath, he had turned and was nodding thoughtfully at the tree.
"Acclimation."
She let out a long, relieved sigh. This is what he looked like on the job, she recognized: calm, focused, analytical. "Yeah."
"If you aren't used to it, it'll shock you, throw you off, every time it comes up." His eyes cut over to her and she gave him a quick nod, and he shrugged. "Makes sense."
And this hadn't been the best way to realize that, but it was so much better that she had learned it now, here, with him instead of out on the streets of New York somewhere. In her head and her chest, something suddenly felt looser. Settled.
"Thank you, Brendan."
His head came around fully as he stared at her. "For what?" he asked, his voice sharp. "Unintentionally scaring you almost to death?"
"Well..." She chuckled then, because, "Yeah. Except it wasn't that bad, but...yeah."
Why is she smiling like that? Don't think it means what you want it to mean, don't go there. She's just-- He ducked his head, so all she could see was dark hair against sparkling color. "You shouldn't thank a guy for something like that," he mumbled.
He wanted her smile to mean something? Freya deliberately concentrated on him, focusing on him so hard the rest of the apartment faded out, but all she could get was, --should go. Tree's up, lights on, dinner ruined, I should go. Work. Tell her I've got to be in early, need sleep. Yeah, like sleep is going to happen. Lots and lots of sheep for me tonight-- and she was the one reaching out for him this time.
"I am thankful," she said, keeping her eyes on his when his head came up. "You didn't ruin dinner. And tomorrow's Sunday."
After a moment where all she heard was, Huh, he huffed out a laugh. "You know, that can still be kind of odd."
She felt her mouth quirk up. "But it doesn't freak you out," she said.
"Eh." His head dipped to the side with a dismissive grimace, and she found herself staring at his mouth, his lips, which looked almost as soft as his eyes could sometimes get. Like they had been earlier when he'd been gazing up at all of the lights. "Freak, no. Unnerve, yeah, occasionally."
Would he freak out if she kissed him? She couldn't exactly ask. But when he gave her that half-smile that always invited her to smile back, she just leaned forward and did it--
--and his mouth opened on a gasp as he went still, and his lips were soft and she tasted mustard, and then his hands were on her and she was touching his hair.
It wasn't perfect. Her back twisted in a weird way as she pushed up to her knees so they were the same height, and his hands were gripping her arms just a bit too tight, but she was hearing a running litany of wonder and pleasure and simple happiness that made her grin against his mouth.
Then, Waitwaitwaitwait, and she was pushed back and away from him.
"What?" she asked, her voice rougher than she'd heard in a long time.
Brendan's eyes were blurry and his lips were reddened, and he was gaping at her. Why? "Wh--"
"Because I wanted to." She pulled one arm free from him and reached up again to run her hand through his mussed hair while he blinked at her.
He shook her off, and his eyes went hard. "Because you're thankful?"
She hadn't heard that coming. "No." His eyes didn't clear, so she freed her other arm and brought that hand to his cheek. "No," she said more firmly.
His teeth closed on his lip again, her eyes dropped to that sight, and this time she didn't deny what that made her want: to lick away the small pain and then bite down there herself. A small sound rose in the back of her throat. "Brendan..."
She watched his mouth open, and, "Holiday spirit?" he suggested.
Her eyes jerked up to his, and his were amused, even though his face was almost blank. She narrowed her eyes and started to draw back her hand, but he caught it and held it easily in one of his as he raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.
Well. If he was going to play that way. "Maybe."
He brought their joined hands to his lips. "So, let me get this straight," he said. Her fingers twitched at the feel of his breath, and he paused to press a soft kiss to the tips. "Your sister's not my type, but you are, hm?"
She tried, but Freya knew she didn't completely squash a smile.
"Is that a 'yes?'" he asked innocently, and she had to laugh.
"It's a 'maybe,'" she told him.
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