A/N: I'm back with another angst-y piece! There may be one more following this, but no promises. I absolutely LOVE this pairing (even though it's non-existent in the book world of the 39 Clues) and I had to show my love by writing this. Besides, Dan needs a say in all of this right?
I actually wrote 4 lines of this last month but got stuck. Then a couple of days ago I was listening to "Storm" by Ruelle and it motivated me to finish this! I wrote it in like an hour (which is pretty fast for me.) You don't have to listen to the song while you read, but it's amazing! So moody and edgy!
"I am caught off-guard by you, like a wave I pulled into." ~"Storm" by Ruelle
He wondered…
He wondered how she always managed to be so perfect all the time.
Her clothes, her hair, her poise, it was annoying how she never seemed to have a thing out of place. It was so annoying in fact, that every time she came around he made it his personal goal to mess her up.
~Flashback~
"Daniel Arthur Cahill!"
Her pissed off voice reverberated off of the walls, sounding as if it was coming from right outside the doorway.
Sure enough, she appeared only seconds later, her amber eyes lit with rage, her perfectly manicured hands on her hips, and her glossy hair covered in whipped cream.
He tried to keep a straight face, but didn't pull it off. Nowadays, it was rare to actually accomplish a prank, especially with her Lucian sensor fully intact. His laughter filled the room, and though she let out an exasperated sigh, he thought that he spied a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Now it's going to take me hours to wash and restyle this"—he winced at the steel in her tone. Maybe he had been wrong about the smile?—"and you know that my personal stylist couldn't accompany me on this trip!"
He shrugged. He had known that, but hadn't really cared.
"Well, I assure you, no one knows revenge like a Lucian. You better be on your guard."
With a sniff, she flounced out of the room, a dab of white fluff falling from her hair at the move.
He couldn't help but laugh again, but he also was awed that though he had tried his hardest to get her to lose her poise, she was still so flawless.
He wondered…
He wondered how her touch ignited something within him, a feeling that he couldn't place or figure out.
It was weird. He had a lot of female friends from school that touched him casually all of the time. But somehow whenever she did it—even something as simple as brushing her fingers over his arm—the move was more unnerving than a full-on hug from anyone else.
He hated it.
~Flashback~
The three voices were discussing around him, but he tuned them out. He was getting tired of this. Tired of having the clues in his head, tired of wondering where the next attack would come from, or even who it would come from.
A light touch on his bare arm made him start, drawing his attention to the person on his right.
'Are you okay?' she mouthed, and he quickly nodded, not even sure what he was thinking about before. Had her hands always been so soft? Probably so, with all of those lotions and creams she used.
His gaze drifted down to her hand, so small and dainty. As if noticing his stare the hand quickly retreated, but a burning sensation was left in its wake.
"Does everyone agree?" his sister's voice broke through.
The other two agreed, and he found himself nodding too, though he had no idea what was going on.
Maybe he needed a break. This new threat had to be getting to him. That was all.
He wondered…
He wondered how she could be so snobby one minute, but then so relatable the next.
It was inevitable that they would get thrown together with their siblings leading their respective branches and whatnot, and they would always retreat from the two, especially when Ian and Amy started making puppy eyes at each other.
It was almost like clockwork. The little looks and retorts lined with innuendos would be traded, the two younger siblings would grimace, exchange eye rolls, then make their excuses, putting plenty of distance between them and their lovesick siblings.
~Flashback~
"Video games?"
Sending her a smirk, he walked over to pick up a controller, not abashed by the disdain in her voice. "You're welcome to go back into the living room."
"Ugh," her shoulders convulsed into a shudder. "No thank you."
He grinned but busied himself with setting up his player. To his surprise, he suddenly smelled the scent of her perfume and glanced over to see her right beside him, picking up the other controller. Of course, she was holding it between her thumb and forefinger like it was laced with germs or something. Which, come to think of it—
"Prepare yourself to be annihilated Daniel."
He wouldn't admit it under torture or threat of death, but he liked it when she called him by his full name, especially when it was said in a playful way.
"Video games are my forte princess," he bragged to cover up his reaction. "Maybe you should be prepared."
Thirty minutes later, after she had beaten his score four times in a row, he had consented through his dismay, "Fine. You beat me today. But don't get used to it."
She only laughed, and though he had been serious when he said it, as he watched her—face lit up, eyes shining, full lips pulled into a genuine smile—he quickly decided that if she beat him every time, then that would be okay.
Just as long as she laughed like that every time too.
He wondered…
He wondered how she always knew what to do without saying a word.
Even his sister wasn't that in tune with him at times, choosing to speak when all he wanted was to sit in silence, but not her. She knew exactly what he needed.
~Flashback~
It was stupid, he knew, to be out here when everyone was inside, having fun.
But he couldn't help it. He couldn't be around his cousins right now, particularly after Eisenhower had just made that speech.
'It was nice. A nice speech from a dad to his son, and Hamilton deserved it after winning that championship. It's stupid that I'm this upset.'
He knew though, that the speech itself hadn't upset him, or even the hug that followed. It was the bond the two Holts shared. A bond that seemed to not falter. A bond that was priceless.
A bond that he would never get the chance to have with his own dad.
Sitting there, he let the misery overtake him, and was almost to the point of tears when he heard someone sit down on the grass beside him. He stiffened, even when he caught the familiar whiff of Prada.
He waited, body tense for the 'I'm sorry', only it never came.
Finally, he relaxed and let out a breath, though he kept his gaze pointedly ahead, staring into the dark grouping of trees, wishing he could just fade into them.
'I don't want to be here. I'm tired of being alone, of not having parents.'
A touch on his arm could be felt at that moment, pulling him back to reality and he glanced down to see her head moving until it rested on his shoulder.
In that moment, though he still felt the pain, it somehow diminished to a dull ache, leaving something else in its wake. He didn't have the energy to place it but he let out another breath and closed his eyes.
He knew that within a day they would go back to their pretenses of hating each other, but for now he relished the knowledge that she cared.
He wasn't alone.
He wondered…
He wondered how being around her always dissolved his darkness. It was like she carried a light with her, a flame, a warmth like he had never felt. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but every time her eyes met his own it seemed like the shadows inside of him melted away.
It wasn't always so obvious. Sometimes it was subtle, hidden beneath a sharp retort or hard look.
~Flashback~
She had just snapped at him, and though he hated to acknowledge it, his feelings were hurt.
Tightening his jaw, he kept his gaze on the table, not looking up even when he felt her gaze on his.
"Look what?" he asked, his voice quiet but angry.
What she said next though, caught him off-guard.
"I'm awful I know. I always am around you."
The words were spoken softly, but he could hear the vulnerability in them, the brokenness.
He looked up just in time to see her standing up, her face closed up and her feet walking swiftly to the door. If she hadn't been hugging herself, he would have thought he had misheard her.
What had she meant by 'I always am around you?' And why had she said it like that, like it was a secret confession? Puzzling over what had just happened, he took the opportunity to study her for the rest of the day. But she never met his gaze, not until she and her brother stood to leave.
Long lashes framed her pretty eyes, but that wasn't what he loved about them. What he loved was the emotions churning behind them. With one look, she conveyed how sorry she was for snapping at him. With one stare, she melted his anger. With one glimpse into the unguarded side of her—a side she rarely showed—she made him wonder about her feelings for him.
But the moment faded as the barriers rose once more and she stepped out into the cool evening air. He tried to watch her go but her brother blocked his view as he turned to say one last thing to Amy, so he just stood there, left to wonder if he had imagined it all.
He wondered. Wondered if she was in love with him, if he was in love with her. He was so close to asking, to confessing. But he kept hiding instead, shielding himself behind the masquerades they had created.