The Way Things Are
Disclaimer—Not mine! Mutant X belongs to Tribune and Marvel.
Rating: PG
A/N: Ever since I saw the drastic difference in Brennan and Shalimar from the ending of the episode Possibilities to the beginning of the very next episode, Conspiracy Theory, I've wondered what happened. What happened during that space of time to break the tension and to suddenly cause them to be so comfortable and natural around each other? What could have possibly happened between them? This is my answer. J
He blamed himself for the way things were between them. He had seen the hurt in her eyes that day when she tried to comfort him, and he had instead walked away. He had been too self-absorbed then to realize what he was doing, what he was saying. But he knew it now, and he called himself ten times a fool for that moment. For the life of him, he couldn't take it back; instead he now found himself fighting to regain that precious balance that had been lost between them. Oh, she never spoke a word about it, and they interacted as they always had within the deep walls of their home. But yet, something was missing. He knew it; she knew it. A silent wall stood towering around her, and he was slowly chinking away at it, brick by brick, to bring them back to the way things were.
The smell of paint was strong in the air, and he followed his nose until he found himself in the doorway of Shalimar's bedroom. She was perched atop a rickety ladder that she must have dragged down from an old storage room. A paint tray was clenched in one hand while the other was busy moving a roller up and down the wall in broad strokes. Headphones covered her ears and her head bobbed slightly from side to side in slight mimic of the music coursing through them. For once, his approach was unnoticed, and he smiled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorway, taking the time to study her.
Shalimar was an enigma to him. He knew that he loved her, and he was fairly sure she loved him back. Yet for all his certainty, he had never quite found the courage to test that belief. She was his best friend, his life. His heart quickened within his chest at the thought.
Blissfully unaware, Shalimar continued her mad attack on the wall. She had an innate urge to repaint her room, and she took great comfort as fresh paint gradually coated her walls, helping her regain the feeling of safety within her little den of sanctuary. The ladder was shaky beneath her, but she was confident in her footing, precariously balanced on the top rung as she was, stretching to the left with the roller. Her tray was almost empty, and she just wanted to get the last remaining section of wall before climbing back down to refill on paint. A skinny strip was all that remained, and she pushed herself up on tiptoes, straining for the bare patch. The ladder swayed, and she automatically rolled her hips, absorbing the movement with her body as she rolled paint over the final section of wall.
The hair on the back of her neck suddenly prickled up as the sensation of being watched struck her. She realized she was not alone and whirled around, prepared to counter the swift movement of the swaying ladder as she instinctively leaned over in the opposite direction. It would have worked too, except for the fact that Brennan had sprinted forward and grasped the legs of the shaky ladder just as she tilted her body against a suddenly non-existent wave of movement. With a final gasp, she flew over the edge and landed on the floor with a hard thump. The paint tray landed on her head a moment later.
"Ah!" Shalimar's body curled in upon itself as pain racketed through her arm.
"Shalimar!" Brennan dropped to his knees beside her, hands shaking as he grasped the edge of the tray and hurled it across the room.
"Don't throw it—" Her voice trailed off as paint drops arched through the air and splattered across both of them. She shook her head in chagrin as Brennan remained oblivious, too wrapped up in his concern for her to notice a little thing like paint on his face.
"Shal," he gasped, "Don't move! I'll call Jesse for help." His hands landed warm on her shoulder.
"No, Bren, I'm fine." She started to protested as he raised his ring to his mouth. She rolled over onto her back, struggling to sit up.
He was instantly there, propping her up against his shoulder. "Are you sure you're alright?" His eyes stared down at hers, still huge with shock.
She paused, taking stock of her body. Her arm and hip stung, and she knew she would have a nasty bruise, but she was fine. "Yeah, Bren, I'm ok. Just help me up, will you?"
His hand grasped her elbow as he gently pulled her to her feet. Pain again ran through her arm, and she winced, biting her lip.
"I saw that," Brennan softly rebuked her. "You are hurt."
She tentatively rolled her shoulder, "It's nothing, Brennan. I just twisted my arm a bit, that's all. I'm fine." She stared back at him defiantly. "You can go now."
He frowned, feeling the tension slowly seep back into her stance. "Shal, you're hurt. I'm not leaving."
She raised her eyebrows. He hadn't stood up to her in a while.
"Come on, Shal," he decided to try a different approach, "let me help you." His eyes pleaded with her as he shot her an enduring grin.
She sighed; she never could resist those deep, chocolate eyes and dimples, and he knew it.
His grin widened when he recognized her acquiesce, "Thanks." It was then that he finally noticed the paint droplets drying in her face and hair. His lips twitched. "Oh, Shal, I'm sorry." He lightly fingered a drop of paint on the tip of her nose. "Let me help you clean up."
She shot him a glare as she started towards the bathroom, cradling her arm against her chest. "I don't know what you're laughing about; you look just as bad as I do."
Brennan stopped in surprise in front of his mirrored reflection. "Wow, I do." He chuckled as he took the proffered washcloth from her good hand and ran it under the sink faucet, scrubbing his face clean. Next to him, Shalimar struggled to wipe her own face clean with one hand. He shook his head, pulling the cloth from her fingers and taking over. She froze, not blinking until he was done. She blew out a long breath when he turned back around to rise out the cloth, knees failing her and sinking into the nearest chair. Needing a distraction, she reached over to her vanity, picking up her brush. Brennan turned back around in time to see her wince as she raised her arm above shoulder level.
"Let me do that."
Her heart pounded as he took the brush from her limp fingers and turned her slightly away from him. He didn't say anything else and after a few moments, she relaxed her initial stiffness and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. It took patience to brush it out section by section like Brennan was doing, pausing to work out each tangle. It was a soothing feeling, comforting. And unnerving.
Her thoughts drifted as the silence lengthened. She loved who Brennan was. Everything about him; his character, his honesty, his strength, his passion. She had been comfortable with him since the day she met him. She trusted him. Years of depending on him, and he had never let her down. He had been a wonderful friend.
She wanted something more. She was glad her head was bent and her expression hidden because she had the awful suspicion that she was blushing. Her emotions were confusing. She was angry with him, yet she was incredibly aware of him at the moment, every move he made as he brushed her hair. Having his arms wrap around her…She sighed, admitting the obvious. It would be wonderful—and the idea scared her to death.
She let her head drop forward a little more as Brennan worked out a tangle in the ends of her hair. The brush caught.
"Sorry."
"It's ok," she whispered. She didn't dare say more.
He kneeled down beside her, hands settling on her drooping shoulders. "Come here."
She gave a start from her wandering thoughts to hear the tenderness in his voice. He turned her towards him and after a moment's hesitation, she leaned her head forward against his shoulder.
He rubbed her upper arms and pressed a kiss into her hair. "I'm sorry."
She stiffened and pulled away, clearing her throat as she stood up and walked out the door. She paused a moment later as she felt the squish of paint beneath her socked feet.
Behind her, Brennan again chuckled. "Sorry about that, Shal. I promise I'll clean all this up." His arms swept out to gesture at the paint splattered floor.
"Yeah, you will." She raised her eyebrows up at him and plopped down onto her bed. Her feet stuck off the end, and Brennan helped himself to her sock drawer, pulling out a clean pair and approaching her as she watched his every movement. Without asking for permission, he pulled her paint covered socks off her feet.
"I can do it." She tried to pull her feet back slightly.
"Shalimar."
Her bare feet were ticklish. She tried not to laugh as Brennan slipped on the first sock, but it was simply beyond her control when his hand brushed over her instep. Her toes curled and she giggled.
He looked up at her sharply, then paused, still holding her now socked foot. He grinned. "I'll have to remember this." He squeezed her foot in affection.
"Brennan—"
He slipped on her other sock and wiggled her toes. "Where else are you ticklish?"
She felt her face flame. "None of your business."
"I have to use my imagination?" His speculative gaze was frank and unrepentant.
Shalimar wanted to hit him for making her blush. She turned her attention back to the paint around the room.
His gaze followed hers, and he gave a long-suffering sigh as he crossed the room and picked up the brush to resume where she had left off.
She gave a triumphant smile and settled back against her pillow to watch him. He was trying, she had to give him that much.
She sneezed at the stirred up dust and wiped the back of her hand across her face, then abruptly sneezed again. Brennan approached her with a laugh as she dropped her head down and her hair swung forward as she tried to stop another one.
"Ok?"
She nodded and wiped at her eyes, only to blink furiously when paint speckles still on her fingers transferred and her eyes began to burn.
Brennan set down the paint roller and retrieved the wet rag out of the bathroom.
"Come here," he bemused.
She stood up, and he tugged her closer. Her heart fluttered, and her hands came to rest against his forearm, hoping he didn't notice the way her senses were suddenly going haywire. He calmly dapped at her eyes, seemingly unperturbed by the contact. She wanted to slide her hands through his hair and compel him to kiss her. The thought of their first kiss had been clouding her mind for months, and she wanted to experience it, wanted to know.
The corded muscles of his upper arm were firm. She wanted to wrap her hand around his arm and rub the muscle with her thumb, trace its definition. She swallowed and closed her eyes, easing back an inch.
"Shalimar."
She opened her eyes to find him watching her, and the intensity in his eyes made her quiver. He was absorbing her, his gaze so intense, no amusement now. She had known his eyes were brown, but as she looked into them, the rest of the world around her faded.
His hand slid under her hair and cradled the back of her neck. "Shal—" He whispered her name as he lowered his head.
It was bliss. His mouth was warm and firm as it settled on hers. Her raging emotions calmed, and then burst back to life again. It was a relief that the suspense was over and surprised delight at what she found.
Someone had taught Brennan how to kiss. She came to rest firmly against his chest and the kiss deepened. He was holding back, but what he was letting her share was enough to make her wonder how she had endured without this. She felt who he was come across in his kiss; the power and the control. He was taking exquisite care of her even as he explored. Her hand settled on his chest. All her senses were drinking him in. She could feel his heartbeat under her hand.
He ended the kiss with obvious reluctance. The hand cradling her neck slid over to her shoulder and then eased down her back. She buried her head against his shoulder, hiding, catching her breath.
The tension was gone. She wanted to laugh. She could feel her body relaxing now, starting with her toes and working up through her muscles as he idly soothed his hand across her hair.
"That could get addictive," he finally spoke.
Her warm laugh set everything right again. "Yeah."
He coiled a strand of hair around his finger. "I'm going to dream about that kiss." His hand tipped up her chin. He was smiling, and it was an intimate one she hadn't seen before.
She stretched up on her toes and kissed him again, fingers digging into his forearm.
He felt an overwhelming tenderness that eclipsed even the passion. "Thank you," he huskily whispered.
Shalimar caught her breath as the caress of Brennan's fingers along her chin moved her head back to receive another kiss. Its completeness washed over all her senses in new recognition.
"Hey Bren," She murmured as he slightly pulled back to meet her gaze.
"Yeah?"
"You missed a spot." She indicated to the far wall with her chin.
His mouth turned upward into a roguish grin. "I did, didn't I?" His eyes never left her face.
She smiled as instead he wiped a white freckle off her nose and then bent down to kiss the spot.
"You're changing the subject." She raised an eyebrow.
"You bet I am."
She laughed and rested her cheek against his chest, content.
His chin settled against her hair, and his eyes fell shut with palpable relief as he blew out his breath. He changed his mind. He no longer wanted to go back to the way they used to be; he decided as his arms tightened around her, he liked things just the way they were.