Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Note: Set very early on; before Deniz' appearance.
Annette loved Christmas. It was an excuse to wear sparkles, to hug and kiss the ones you loved; to stay inside and drink cocoa, to get drunk on Gluehwein and sing. This year, Christmas was a reasonably small affair at the WG. Ingo, Diana, Nina, Roman, Lena, Olga. Oliver would probably put in an appearance, or Vanessa, to load up on Christmas cheer before attending the Steinkamps' annual funerary procession they tried to pass off as celebration. Tim and Ben would probably stop by to fill up on booze and sweets before making some excuse to go hang out and play video games before the big party at No.7.
It was Christmas Eve day, and Annette had the whole flat to herself. She turned the radio on, blowing a kiss at a glittery, festive Olga in between half-invented off-key lyrics to cheesy English Christmas songs. Everyone was out for the day: Keule was looking after the fry stand; Roman and Ingo were last-minute Christmas shopping, although they'd told Annette that they were going to the Centre to have drinks with Brigitte and Constanze. In truth, she knew, they'd forgotten her Christmas present. She wouldn't hold it against them. Not for long, anyway. Perhaps until her next birthday. Unless they got her something really good. Diana was picking up groceries - just because tomorrow would be small, it didn't mean that there wasn't going to be enough food to feed half of Essen.
Following a recipe she knew by heart, Annette haphazardly lined her ingredients up on the bench, her red skirt whooshing around her as she did so, following her graceless pirouettes, her hips as they kept time with the music. She picked up an apron, one that Diana had given her last Christmas - a kitsch and gorgeous thing, covered in snowflakes and reindeer - and that she'd been dying to wear since.
Just as she picked up the flour, she heard a loud metallic clang, and an even louder voice. She dropped the flour, scattering a fine layer of it across the bench and onto herself. She swore as she heard the elevator grinding, and before the door was open, Diana's voice, high and excited, echoed through the space. "I have food!" It was sing-songy, childish, and made Annette's mood just a little bit lighter. Diana's emotions had always had that effect on her. Her excitement was contagious, her tears more painful than Annette's own.
The door opened, and there stood a flushed Diana, face red from the cold or the effort of lugging groceries around, hair a little spikier than usual, and half an elevator full of bags. "Annette!" A little petulant, each syllable of her name pronounced and emphasised. Annette loved the way Diana said her name when she was excited or complaining or pretending to be mad. An-net-te. "Help me!"
When Annette didn't respond, Diana looked up.
Ten minutes later, Annette finally managed to push the door of the fridge closed, glaring menacingly at a few celery leaves that had gotten caught and were poking out at her, mocking her with their little green celery eyes. Diana slumped down at the kitchen table with a grunt, laughter still playing around her mouth. Annette turned her glare to Diana: she wouldn't get away with laughter.
"Oh, no, you don't," Annette cautioned. "Up, up, up!" She grabbed Diana's arm, all but yanking her out of her seat. Diana squeaked something that Annette thought was a protest. She held out an apron, and Diana's eyes widened in what she thought was disgust.
"No. Annette, no." Still childish, but a bit wary. Before Diana could run away, Annette tossed the apron over her slumped shoulders and reached around her to tie it, pulling Diana playfully against her to reach. Diana straightened, eyes widening again, but it definitely wasn't disgust this time. Annette felt her breathing out, slightly shakily, and her fingers fumbled with the knot.
"There we go," she announced, the casual cheer in her voice slightly undermined by the obvious tremor. "We're making Lebkuchen," she said, wielding the air of a school teacher surprisingly well. "You can start with the flour."
The bench was still dusted with a fine coating of flour Annette's apron was marked with dark spice and her hands were sticky with sugar. Diana grinned proudly at her as she put the first tray in the oven, pixie-faced, a spot of flour on her cheek. "Ta-da!"
Annette grinned back. "Annette and Diana's Catastrophic Lebkuchen."
Diana's smile faded slightly as she passed a glance around the disaster zone that was the kitchen.
She closed her eyes tightly against the sugar coating her fingers as she rubbed some flour from her face. She was mentally calculating how long it would take to wash the flour from her hair when she felt a weight at her mouth, against her breasts. It wasn't until she opened her eyes that she realised Diana was kissing her. Gently, deliberately, and very briefly.
Diana pulled away, her searching expression so readable and so familiar that Annette's hands, unconscious now of the sugar, of everything, moved to frame her jaw, and she pulled her back. She felt fingers on her cheek, gritty with flour, lips that tasted of honey and molasses. It was strange. She had kissed Diana before, many times, the same way she had kissed Roman and Keule, but this... this was new.
Annette had a feeling that this Christmas would be glitterier than ever.