A/N: Unbetaed. It kinda started with the promo for 1x16 and got into weird future-y places. So, AU, I guess? Future-fic?
spring
He's still got that ridiculous smirk on his face when she hands him some sheets and a blanket.
She points her index finger at him threateningly. "Nothing's going to happen tonight, you know."
He grins as he spreads the sheet out on the floor. "You say that now..."
He gets caught up in watching her in the throes of her nighttime routine - she sits on the edge of the bed, toweling off her hair, before she starts brushing it, and he loves the rough sound of the brush running through her hair, loves the way she loses herself in the repetitiveness of it all, so when she finishes and turns to see him, leaning back on his elbows, watching her, she blushes.
"Well," she says, turning to flick off the bedside light, "Good night."
She can practically hear his smirk in the dark when he says, voice low, "Do I get a good night kiss?"
She rolls her eyes but she feels the bed sink under his weight and then he's leaning down, lips super close to hers, and she's trying hard to play it cool, but her heart is pounding in her chest with anticipation and she hates that, hates that he can do this to her with just his presence -
And then his lips are touching hers, just barely, and she leans up -- subconsciously, of course -- to deepen the kiss. He chuckles against her lips for just a second, and she lets her hands twine in his hair when she remembers that this is a bad idea, her dad is just down the hall, and she should stop. Right now. No, really. She should stop.
She presses her hands against his shoulders and he braces himself up with his arms.
"You should really get back on the floor."
He arches a brow, then presses a soft kiss against her neck. "Mmm, that'll go straight on my to-do list."
She laughs, "No, I mean it." She shifts and rolls onto her side, her back to him. "8 a.m. tomorrow, I'm kicking you out."
He lets his fingertips brush the ends of his hair as he moves away before he settles back down on the floor. It's silent for a bit; then he says, "Thanks...for letting me stay here."
She exhales loudly. "It's no big deal. I'm--" She pauses and rolls onto her other side; the bedsprings creak.
"You're what?"
"Nothing. Nothing, forget it."
He lets the matter drop and lays there, hands beneath his head, listening to the sound of her breathing. When her breathing evens out, he steals a glance at her; it's weird, this new thing he has with her. He's not sure he's ever really felt this way - whatever this way means anyway - about anyone before.
-
summer
The sheets rustle as he settles in beside her; the lamp casts a glow on her face as she silently pages through a Naomi Klein book.
He presses a kiss on her cheek. "Hey."
She smiles, turns to kiss him. "Hi."
He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer to him, nuzzles his head against her hair. "I missed you, you know." He kisses her neck.
"I'm trying to sleep."
"Yeah? How's that going for you?"
"Since you don't really know the definition of personal space, not very well."
He laughs and threads his fingers through her hair. "Well, since you're not going to get any sleep anyway..."
"It's like ninety degrees out."
He punctuates his sentences with soft kisses that make her shiver, even in the heat. "That's what I'm saying. We could heat up, and then, cool down."
She squints at him in the dark. "Hard to believe those lines work for you."
"You know how it is when the chick's really into you."
His fingers push up the edge of her tank top little by little; the palm of his hand settles heavily against the small of her back.
"No, I don't," she says, inching closer, "How does it go?"
She loves this dance that they do, have done - it was hard for her to think of them as anything lasting, but now that they're forging ahead, she finds it hard to think outside of this context, this them that they've created. He still flirts and teases and is occasionally an overbearing ass, which she has no problem reminding him of. It's normal and abnormal at the same time, but his kisses, the roughness of the pads of his fingers, the way he slings his arm around her when they settle into sleep, it's something she cherishes (though she'd never tell him that).
As he peels her tank top off her, she sighs; it's hard for her to imagine her life before this.
The summer night grows hazy.
-
autumnThings don't run perfectly, of course, and when they fight, it's spectacular.
Their comments are still as sharp, still barbed, and they've both never felt the inclination to plant roots, really. The leaves are falling and she's got her hand in her hair, frustrated and trying not to yell. He understands her so well at some points and there are times like these, where she just wants him to go with her to Bianca's engagement party, and it has become a thing, one of those weird conflicts where she's not really sure why they're arguing, but she's determined to make sure that she emerges the winner.
"I just don't understand why you can't go," she says.
"No, you do understand. You just don't like it."
The dress Bianca made her buy for the occasion is half-zipped on her as she stands, barefoot, in the living room, glaring at him.
"It's not like you've never met my dad before. There will just be other people there too that I share a blood connection with. It's not like I chose them."
He rolls his eyes, shrugs into his jacket. "I don't do family gatherings."
"We're not in high school anymore. You can drop the whole James Dean charade."
"Why do you want me to go, anyway?"
She just growls and stomps off towards the bathroom. "I have to get ready, so if you don't want to go, then fine."
"The passive-aggressive shit really doesn't suit you."
She slams the bathroom door shut in response.
As she's applying her mascara, she hears the muffled sound of his motorcycle starting up and driving off. When she heads off for Bianca's party, she jerks the front door shut with a loud slam.
The picture of them from last Christmas shakes on the wall.
-
winterThe fights get worse; they break up.
She spends part of her Christmas break eating Ben and Jerry's, lying on Bianca's bed, watching terrible made for TV Christmas movies. Bianca brushes her hair.
"You need to stop moping."
"I'm not moping."
"You're lying on my bed, eating Chubby Hubby and watching Demi Lovato pretend that this will somehow revive her acting career post-baby. You're moping."
Kat spoons another giant glob of ice cream into her mouth. "We broke up weeks ago."
"You're still thinking about him, this is a sign, isn't it?"
"You know," Kat says, "This conversation would not pass the Bechdel test."
Bianca crinkles her nose. "Maybe he got tired of you saying stuff like that all the time."
Kat lightly hits Bianca on the arm. "And I'm not at all surprised you got married so early."
Kat finishes the pint as Bianca gripes about the possible calorie count. "But it's your body, not mine," Bianca says.
They wait up to exchange one gift between sisters - an old tradition - and at eleven-thirty, just as they've handed each other the small gifts, there's a soft knock at the door. Bianca raises her eyebrows, trying not to smile.
"Stop trying to imagine my life as a Nicholas Sparks novel."
Bianca rolls her eyes. "The movies are way better anyway."
"I actually think you may have stumbled onto something worse than his novels." Neither of them move. Then, "No worries, I'll get it."
"You're older."
"So?"
"You got driving privileges first, it's fair game."
She hears the crinkling of wrapping paper being torn as she slowly stands and heads for the door. "You know that if you were actually in a Nicholas Sparks novel, you'd probably have cancer or die, right?"
It's nothing magical - Christmas in Southern California does not involve snow or idyllic romantic scenes of wintertime. But when she opens the door, he's there, leather jacket and all, bike parked in the driveway - she becomes nostalgic. She's in a tank top and boxer shorts, her preferred pajamas, but he reaches for her straightaway, hands settling on her hips to kiss her.
She reacts to him as she always does, drawing nearer to his touch before remembering the circumstances, the context. She can practically hear Bianca grinning from twenty feet behind her. She pushes him away lightly, hand on his chest.
"What are you doing here?"
He shrugs. "It's Christmas."
"I know that. But what are you doing here, at my house?"
He looks at her a second, sighs. "I'm - I missed you," he says, softly.
"And you just thought that gave you free license to --"
"And I'm sorry," he says, interrupting. "I - I love you. You know that."
She's silent for a little while and he shifts his weight from foot to foot, waiting for a response. She tries to suppress her smile. "Did you wear a helmet?"
He smirks and leans down to kiss her again. "Plus I didn't want you to be alone on Christmas. I know how that can make some women suicidal."
She rolls her eyes. "Stand out here for a second."
"What are you talking about?"
"Bianca and I have this thing, it's just our thing. So you're going to have to wait out here for like five minutes. Unless you're scared. Because Bianca and I are pretty tough, we can protect you."
He laughs. She pushes the door almost closed before trotting back to Bianca.
"Where's my gift?"
Bianca throws it to her. She tears off the wrapping paper carefully - Delta of Venus by Anais Nin.
"How the hell did you--"
Bianca shrugs. "Google. Plus I asked the saleslady. It seemed like something you'd like."
Kat laughs as they hug.
"I'm going to go crack open another bottle of wine, you up for it?"
She shrugs.
"I'm taking that as a yes. You should probably let Patrick in too, in case he freezes on our doorstep."
She's halfway to the door when she calls back, "Yes, those harsh California winters you always hear about."
"Cameron almost died once," Bianca replies dryly.
They sit in the living room by the light of the Christmas tree, catching up and finishing the bottle of wine.
That night, she sleeps beside him, his arm resting around her, in her childhood bedroom. He snores lightly against her shoulder.