"A quarrel is quickly settled when deserted by one party; there is no battle unless there be two." ~Lucius Annaeus Seneca
*Author's Note: Set during Season Eight, obviously. Consider this my 'sorry-I-disappeared-for-so-long' peace offering.*
"You're doing it wrong."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, yes you are."
"Excuse me, kitten, but may I remind you that I've been doing this a lot longer than you have."
"Regardless of your age and wisdom, O Mighty Rossi, you're still doing it wrong."
"Do you want to do it yourself?"
"What's the point of having a boyfriend if I have to do things like this myself?"
"Boyfriend. Jesus, Strauss, are we in middle school again?"
"What would you prefer to be called, my darling dearest, light of my life?"
"You are completely unattractive when you're patronizing."
"And you're still doing it wrong."
"I have been doing it exactly like this for years, and until you, have never received a complaint."
"Maybe the rest were too sweet to point out your incompetence."
It is this last quip that makes David Rossi snort in amusement, though he's trying very hard to be offended. He looks down at the blonde source of his current aggravation, who is standing at the bottom of the ladder, one foot on the bottom rung as she holds the thing steady.
"Do you want to get up here and do it yourself?" He demands again, holding up the rest of the Christmas light strand, which he is currently trying to attach to the edge of her roof with the most annoying little plastic clips (no nails, she had said, it will cause permanent damage).
"Well, if you're going to do it incorrectly, then I might as well," she shoots back, face completely deadpan.
"They're Christmas lights, Erin, how the hell can I be doing them incorrectly?" His voice dances with irritation, but in truth, he's just prolonging the argument, because it's something to pass the time, and he knows that she's merely teasing him because she likes it.
"I honestly didn't think it was possible, but damned if you aren't," she returns smoothly, and when he glances down at her again, he can see the corner of her mouth tugging into a smile. Then she motions to the edge of the roof, "The plastic clips, you're putting them on upside down."
"Are you serious?"
"When they're upside down, they pull the line of lights up too high and it looks weird."
"You are serious."
"It ruins the aesthetic, David. And it's just incorrect, which you know I can't abide."
"Nothing's ever simple with you, is it?"
"Dave, darling, why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer?" With this query, she gives him a longsuffering look, as if he is the one being difficult. Of course, this earns her another incredulous laugh from her lover, and she grins again. "Seriously, though. The clips—"
"I'm changing them," he interrupts with a heavy sigh, removing his progress of a whole six feet and starting over, occasionally sparing a dark glance at the woman below him. She's wearing a ridiculously victorious grin, as if she's taking supreme delight in his small capitulation, and he actually finds her adorable in this moment, bundled up in her jacket and scarf, red spots on her cheeks and the tip of her nose (he always makes fun of her paler skin and how it reacts so much more easily to the weather than his, cooing how adorable her little Rudolph nose is, which always earns him a smack on the chest and an irritated roll of those green eyes).
It is the weekend after Thanksgiving, and they returned from all of their family obligations just last night—over breakfast this morning, she'd mentioned needing to put up Christmas lights, to which he gladly volunteered (because Erin Strauss could be so irritatingly self-sufficient sometimes, that it was nice to be able to truly do something for her, to prove his necessity in her life and his devotion to her love). Now, of course, he is regretting his decision.
"No good deed goes unpunished," he mutters, loudly enough for her to hear him. She gives the ladder a slight warning shake, silently reminding him that she has the power to send him toppling across the lawn in a twenty-foot drop.
"Watch it, bella," he warns, and she gives an amused hum in response.
"You know I'd never do such a thing," she coos. He looks down at her, casting an incredulous arch of his brow at her wide-eyed innocence. "At least not until after you've finished—if I sent you flying now, I'd have to do all of this on my own."
He laughs at this, and she grins as well.
"Erin Strauss, you are an evil woman."
"And yet you love me, in spite of it all." She says this with such easy faith that he knows she truly believes her words.
"No, I love you because of it all," he corrects, just as easily, slightly distracted by his endeavors to attach the plastic clips to the edge of the roof. And though he isn't looking at her, he can feel her grin deepening.
They fall into a contented silence as he re-hangs the first six feet of lights. Then he climbs down the ladder again.
"I'm getting major brownie points for this, right?" He gives her a quick kiss.
"Absolutely," she kisses him again, her hands smoothing over the front of his jacket. "My wonderful handy-man."
He shakes his head with a wry grin as he moves the ladder further down the line of the house. He ascends again, taking another set of plastic clips from his pocket as he continues, "So, does this mean you're hanging the lights at my house?"
"No, but I'll happily stand at the foot of the ladder while you hang the lights," she replies. He can hear the smirk in her voice as she adds, "And I won't even tell you when you're doing them wrong."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes, really. It's your house, you can fuck it up all you like."
He laughs again, shaking his head as he wonders how on earth he ended up with this woman, of all the women in the world. Secretly, he knows he wouldn't want it any other way.
Several minutes pass, and the next section of lights are up without complaint. He climbs down the ladder again, rubbing his hands together for warmth—it's just a few degrees above freezing, but there's a harsh breeze that makes it seem colder.
His adorably aggravating blonde companion gently takes his hands in her own, lightly blowing them with her warm breath, and it's this little action that tells the greater theme of their story. He simply watches her face, the light concern in the furrow of her brows, the tender caring in the gentle clasp of her fingertips around his wrists, and though his hands are still cold, his chest is warm with the same sweet emotion that dictates Erin's actions as well.
She looks up, caught off-guard by the smile on David's face. She gives a small, slightly-confused smile of her own, "What?"
"Nothing."
"You don't grin like that over nothing."
"Like what?"
"Like an idiot," she informs him, returning her attention to his cold hands.
"I'm grinning at you." His voice dips lower as he leans in, his forehead almost touching hers as he softly admits, "You make me an idiot, Erin Strauss."
"No, you were definitely one of those long before I came around."
Jesus. The woman doesn't miss a beat, doesn't pull a punch, and what's worse, he can't stop himself from laughing at her smart remarks. Their foreheads are touching, noses brushing and she's laughing, too, dropping his hands as she grabs the lapels of his jacket and pulls his body closer to hers.
"Luckily, you're also lots of other wonderful things as well," she purrs, rising up on the balls of her feet to kiss him.
"Oh? What kinds of wonderful things?" He knows he's grinning again, but he doesn't care because she's grinning, too, her eyes dancing as she contemplates his question.
"We should stop making out on the front lawn," she points out, though her tone belies the fact that she's not truly worried.
"You didn't answer my question, Strauss."
"Finish hanging the lights and I'll answer." She offers one last quick kiss.
"You're a bossy thing, aren't you?"
"It's what I do best."
"I would say being bossy is probably the second best thing you do…or maybe the third—"
"David!" She spats his shoulder, only lightly, rolling her eyes as she walks away, picking up the other end of the Christmas lights strand, gently untangling the loops. Since she is distracted, he decides to even the score of their verbal sparring by sneaking up behind her and slipping his cold hands under her sweater. She makes a noise that something between a gasp and a shriek when his freezing fingers sneak across the bare and sensitive skin of her ribcage—she shoves away from him as she whirls around, and this time, she lands a solid punch onto his upper arm.
"You ass!" She hisses (she never yells at him when they're outside, for fear the neighbors might overhear, and that always amuses him, because it's so typically Erin to be concerned with appearances). Still, there's a playfulness in her tone—just as he can't help but laugh at her scathing remarks, she finds herself unable to be truly upset with him.
"Jesus, Erin," he rubs his wounded arm. "How the hell do you expect me to hang these lights with only one good arm?"
She rolls her eyes at his feigned injury, placing her hands on her hip in a decidedly Strauss fashion, "I suppose you should have thought of that before you put your frozen hands up my shirt."
"I was just trying to keep them warm," he replies innocently, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I thought you wouldn't mind—I need my hands to stay agile, so that they can put those damn clips on correctly."
She is trying to look disapproving, but failing miserably. Of course, David Rossi, dramatic bastard that he is, continues milking it for all it's worth.
"I'm gonna have a bruise," he moans, giving the most pitiful expression that he can conjure up as he waits for her response.
Pressing her lips together to keep from smiling, she returns his look with a Strauss Specialty Glare of Disbelieving Displeasure (the one that says none of your fucking shenanigans, Agent Rossi). However, it is ineffective, as her eyes are still glowing in amusement. Finally, she breaks, moving closer to him as she extends her arms, "C'mere."
She gently braces him with her hands, tilting her head to bestow a quick kiss on the injured area, "There. Better?"
"I couldn't feel it through all the layers of clothing," he answers honestly, his face still perfectly serious.
"Well, then, what do you suggest?" She arches her brow, "You wanna take off your jacket and your shirt in freezing temperatures?"
"Heavens, no, I'd die of pneumonia." Now his hands are resting on her hips, anchoring her in front of him as he offers his latest proposition, "However, we could go back inside and I could take them off."
"Uh-huh," she seems incredulous.
"Of course, that would make things uneven, and I know you like balance and order—"
"That I do."
"So, naturally, you would need to take off your shirt, too—"
"Naturally."
"Then, of course, it might still feel off-balance, so—"
Erin interrupts with laughter again, shaking her head as she stops David's words with her own mouth. Then she pulls away, giving him a playfully disapproving look, "You are incorrigible."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"No, not bad. Just distracting."
"My love for you is distracting?"
"It's not your love that's talking right now," she gives a pointed look over her shoulder as she moves back to the ladder again, and he chuckles in response.
"Seriously," he follows her, helping her move the ladder further down the line of the house. "This is the first day to ourselves in forever—no family, no kids, no work—we should make the most of it."
"We are making the most of it."
"By hanging lights?" He gives her an incredulous look. She merely motions up the ladder, and with a heavy sigh and a shake of his head, he ascends, reaching down to grab the next length of lights that she is holding up for him.
"Foreplay, my love," she returns easily.
He laughs, "If this is your idea of foreplay, you've got a lot to learn, kitten."
"Maybe I've learned more than you think," she points out. "After all, who was the one who wanted to go inside less than two minutes ago?"
He takes a moment to consider her argument. "You know, you might be right."
"Oh, my, Dave—when you talk to me like that, I get all flustered," she kicks her voice into a breathy pitch, her hands fluttering at her shirt collar in feigned distress.
Not to be outdone, David leans back down towards her, his voice slipping into its most velvety, seductive purr, "You are right. You're always right, and I'm always wrong."
"My, my, make a girl melt completely," she croons, and they both grin. And of course, because she cannot leave well enough alone (not with him, never with him), she innocently adds, "You know, if you wanted to truly be romantic, you could say those words at the office…in front of the entire unit….or better yet, over the PA system."
"Ha. Never."
"Oh, c'mon, just five little words—Erin Strauss is always right. See how easy that is?"
"You're being patronizing again."
"Am I? I thought I was simply being right."
"I realize that I made an egregious error in judgment," he admits sadly, and this only adds to her glee.
"Well, of course you did—you're always wrong, remember?"
"Sweet Jesus in short-pants."
Now Erin Strauss is cackling, because she knows that she's found a point to win all future arguments (at least the playful ones, the ones that are only pretend, because sparring is how they communicate, how it's always been between them, how it will always be, regardless of the new and softer turn that their once-vehement-and-volatile relationship has taken). Still, she occasionally knows when to stop—she's had her fun, and though she loves teasing him, she never wants him to feel that she's laughing at him instead of with him (they both have insecurities, and she knows how that can trigger some of his, and she never wants to hurt him, at least not like that, and never with something so intimate, something with which he has trusted her). So she switches gears slightly, letting a deeper warmth slip into her tone as she adds, "And since I'm always right, I think that once we've finished with the lights, perhaps I should take a little time to soothe your wounded arm—I know just the thing to make your tired muscles feel brand new."
"You know, I think I'm beginning to remember why you're always right." His face is turned away from her as he concentrates on hanging the lights, but she can hear the grin in his voice.
She gives a small hum of amusement (because she knew that he'd say that) and they lapse into another contented silence.
"David?"
"Yeah, bella?"
"You're doing it wrong again."
"For the love of that's good and holy, Strauss—"
"Don't get pissy at me—you're the one putting the clips on upside down!"
"No good deed, woman. No good deed."
"For all your good intentions, you're still doing it wrong."
"Sweet Jesus."
"I still love you."
"I'm sure you do."
"Even though you're doing it wrong."
"You just can't leave well enough alone, can you?"
"Not when it's wrong, no."
"Do you want to do this yourself?"
"Brownie points, remember?"
"Doesn't seem worth it."
"Excuse me?"
"I love you too, Erin."
"Just remember your new mantra—Erin Strauss is always—"
"A pain in my ass!"
"David Rossi, you have the most abysmal Christmas spirit."
"Bite me."
"Later, lover."
"You're a horrible woman."
"I know. And David?"
"What?"
"It's still wrong."
"On the contrary, woman is the best equipped fighting machine that ever went to battle." ~Richard Le Gallienne