Title: Mistletoe and Walnuts
Rating: K+
Pairing: Shameless, ridiculous Bobby/Alex.
Genres: Fluff, Humor, and some truly silly Romance.
A/N: My gift to you for Christmas. Ridiculous and rambling, but it made me smile, and I hope it'll do the same for you. All the same, Merry Christmas!
Somehow or another, a sprig of mistletoe had snuck its way into the precinct on Christmas Eve. Said sneaking was most undoubtedly done by a male with no sense and a desire to incite the ire of every female in the office. Or perhaps, some unlucky fellow who was simply looking for a Christmas kiss. And also happened to be a complete doof.
Which was why said mistletoe was immediately relegated to hanging above an empty and abandoned corner of the bullpen, looking depressed and despairingly neglected. And also why Mike Logan was sitting hunched over in his desk, looking both contrite and nervous as Falacci eyed him suspiciously from across their workspace.
Chewing absently on the end of her pen, Alex surveyed the scene with well-hidden amusement, waging a debate with herself. 'Should I,' she wondered as Mike shuffled papers and cleared his throat in a squeaky, uncomfortable tone, 'tell his partner that he already tried the mistletoe scheme last year?' Watching him like a hawk on fresh prey, Falacci merely crossed her arms and arched a brow. 'And that the end result was a trip to the emergency room to have those leaves removed from his sinus cavity, complements of the women at 1PP?' Alex watched as Mike scratched his nose in a jittery fashion, and glanced desperately at the clock.
'Nah.' She bit down hard on the plastic to contain her smirk, and turned her eyes back to the paperwork in front of her, pausing only long enough to catch Bobby's highly amused expression as he leveled her with a knowing look. She couldn't quite fight the smirk down completely then, but managed to keep it from becoming a full blown grin as she got down to business, listening to her partner shuffle his papers comfortably across from her.
Christmas Eve had decided to be blessedly quiet this year, and the day passed in calm and collective ease as almost ninety percent of the Major Case Squad sat in the warmth and worked on case reports. Chatter was tossed easily between the rows of desks, and friendly laughter drifted up in between the ringing of telephones.
Alex, for her part, spent most of the afternoon thinking very little about paperwork. Her mind was, instead, focused on three things. One: Should she, or should she not add black walnuts to the salad she was taking to the Eames Family Christmas Dinner? Two: Should she, or should she not tell Bobby that she actually wouldn't beat him up if he wanted to go talk to Mike, who he'd been carefully sidestepping all day to avoid any possible association of guilt? And Three: Should she, or should she not invite Bobby to said Christmas Dinner?
It had the potential for extreme awkwardness, of course. But really, that was something Alex had come to expect and even enjoy with Bobby. What fun was smooth sailing, when you could do some bouncing along in bumpy wakes instead? Which, of course, made her add another thing to think about to her list: Should she, or should she not tell Bobby that she'd just compared him to a boat?
'A very nice boat, Bobby,' she thought to herself, trying out the possible conversation in mental form, first. Since she almost burst into totally out of character giggles, and the 'boat' shot her a very odd look across the desks, she vetoed the idea completely, and settled back in to aimlessly consider the first three items on her list.
After an hour's worth of mental rambling and internal meandering, the only thing Alex had managed to decide on was number two; she would not be telling Bobby that it was alright to talk to Mike, because then he would never get any of his paperwork done.
And dear God, did she ever enjoy making them both squirm.
Salads were a very tricky business, and required much more consideration. 'And my Martha Stewart side really just cares so very much about it.' On occasion, she actually managed to make herself wince with her inner snark. Bobby shot her another peculiar look. She smiled at him, her eyes still squinted in chagrin, and decided an exit strategy was the best idea for the moment. "I'll go get us more coffee." She snatched both their mugs up, and rising, headed over towards the coffee pot and various accessories.
So it wasn't so much whether or not she should put walnuts in the salad or not. It was the fact that she didn't know whether or not Bobby liked walnuts. In salad or otherwise.
'Is that something partners ought to know about each other?' She wondered, frowning as she approached the liquid caffeine. She didn't think that she had committed some horrible breach of etiquette by not knowing, but then again, she was frequently out of the loop on these issues, and no she didn't normally have such absurd conversations with herself but she was actually thinking about asking Bobby to her family's for Christmas dinner, and Jeeze, Eames what has gotten into you, worrying about this? It's just Bobby, for Cripe's sakes!
Except 'just' was a word that didn't really cover anything about Bobby for her, especially these days, for reasons that were too vague and too varied and too tinted with the neon glow of a giant sign reading 'Let's Just Not Think About This Too Much, Okay?' for her to really focus on.
The real problem, she decided, as she filled her own mug full with one-third sugar (She'd been using the sweet 'n' low stuff for awhile but "Eames, that stuff gives you cancer, you know. And some studies say it can cause abnormal growth rates in osteoblast production and--" so now she was back to 60 empty calories per cup of coffee, but at least he wasn't nagging her anymore.), the real problem was that he might say no. And she knew damn well that if he did say no, it wouldn't be because he had other plans.
But then again, it was that lack of other plans that had made her consider asking him in the first place. And that she didn't like how tired he looked, and how thin he was getting recently. 'Between all of us, we could reverse that in one meal, with the spread we're planning,' She thought, smiling wryly as she grabbed the coffee pot and began pouring.
And she didn't like that lonely look he got in his eyes when he thought she wasn't looking.
So she'd just have to ask him. There was nothing for it, really, because Alex saw his melancholy as entirely unnecessary, and also a problem, and if there was one thing that could be said for Alexandra Eames, it was that she was a problem solver, thank you very much. So. She'd just…have to ask him. To dinner. With her family. And her. On Christmas.
And he might say no.
She frowned then, sticking two stirrers into Bobby's cup, and sloshing them around with rather more vigor than strictly necessary. Predictably, some hot, brown liquid splashed up over the sides of the mug to puddle pathetically around it's base. Alex cursed mildly, rolled her eyes, and took two steps two the left to get some napkins out of the dispenser on the corner of the table.
And 'Oh for cryin' out loud ' Alex thought, as the bullpen erupted into devious noises of mischief, 'What've I just done?'
Mike Logan was, through powers of molecular reconfiguration, she could only surmise, suddenly right behind her. As were three other detectives, including that young Irish one-- Stansburry, was it?-- who blushed whenever she tried to talk to him. He was looking both disappointed and guilty. 'Aha,' She thought distantly, 'This year's culprit.' "Eames! I see you're in the Christmas spirit after all, then!" crowed Mike, looking his most suave and dashing. He waggled his eyebrows at her, and she knew, she just knew that somehow, someone had moved the mistletoe, and she was now standing directly under it, and--
'Oh, Mikey-me-boy, those leaves are going someplace so much worse than up your nose this time.'
He glanced up at the ceiling, then back down at her, his grin all boyish devilry. "Well, Eames, you know tradition and…" He took a step forward. "Going against it is just bad taste, don't you think? One kiss, and it looks like I got here first, so…" He leaned forward, and Alex fought the urge to blink, roll her eyes, and cross them all at the same time. She ended up with a faint twitch in her lower right lid.
"Logan--" She started in her iciest, most furious, most menacing tone, but didn't even have time to enjoy the full effects of his wince before there was suddenly a pair of big, heavy hands laid across her shoulders and whirling her around so she could collide with the front of a high-class tailored suit, and Bobby Goren's stubble-framed lips.
"Mmmf!" She yelped aloud, and 'Oh my God, he's got soft lips' she positively shrieked in her head, in a decidedly un-Eames-ish way.
And then he pulled his mouth away after only the briefest of satisfying slides against hers, and his hands fell to her waist, warm and entirely too familiar, and Alex could only gape up at him as he shot a dark look over her head at the men behind her that clearly said 'Dibs'. There were faint grumbles at her back (okay they might not have been very faint, but they sounded quite soft over the buzzing in her ears), and it was just Alex and Bobby-whose-thumbs-were-actually-rubbing-tiny-circles-on-her-hips.
"Um," He said, and his eyes were full of anxious uncertainty, but his mouth, those lips, were still curled up into a blooming, wicked, undeniably pleased grin. "Eames, I--"
"Do you like walnuts in you salad, Bobby?" And it was his turn to gape, and nod dazedly, as Alex burst into a delighted smile. "Perfect."
And, as with all the best things on Christmas Eve, it really was.
I'm such a Fluff-Queen. Ah well, at least I get a pretty crown and mediocre writing skills with the position. Feedback would be presents under the metaphorical tree for me, so do drop me a comment if you've got the time, yeah? But all the same, Thanks for Reading!