A/n: Hello, dear readers! Long time no see, blame my university degree, but I'm back for the holiday season.
A 21st Century AU is out of the box for me, but I was so inspired by some of the one-shots in Laura Schiller's '100 Ways to Say I Love You' series that I decided to give this a go. Hope you all enjoy. :)
"Are you sure I can't just swing by and pick you up?"
His dashboard Bluetooth crackled with her snort- or the cell reception really was as bad up here as it was reputed to be. "Aren't you almost there?"
"I'll pull a U-turn right now if I can have some company to this thing- OOPH!"
"Don't break your neck doing doughnuts, Amal." Belén chided. He could practically hear her smirk.
"Pinche potholes." He shifted his ass in the seat, his grip on the steering wheel turning white-knuckled. Shouldn't the roads be well-maintained around here? Nechayev must be a millionaire by now, or mortgaged to the hilt, to afford a house up here. Maybe the HOA was bickering over who was liable, yeah, that sounded pretentious enough, mansions with shitty roads the peasants were expected to drive on-
"Your suspension's on the way out, I've been telling you every damn-"
"I know Bee, you've said, but what would you do with yourself if you didn't have my truck to patch up?"
"Oh, I don't know, actually relax when I come over?" she sniped back, "Though my expert mechanical reconditioning, patch job my ass, is the only reason that rust bucket hasn't gone to the scrap yard yet."
"It's not that bad." He muttered, "And if you're going to complain about my truck, get Tom off that death trap of a bike-"
"Hey now-" She cut in, "The Flyer is a labour of love and a work in progress!"
"It's been a work in progress as long as I've known him, how about you?"
"Point." She admitted with a chuckle, "But, in his defence, he's been totally wrapped up in the theatre. The Flyer will be more of a priority in the summer for our road trip."
Thinking of his best friend riding pillion on a motorbike from the 50s down the Interstate made him wince, though he knew Belén would shut down his concerns if he tried to voice them. "Speaking of Tom, did he decide to throw his party before or after Kathryn pushed us to attend this?"
"What do you think?"
He sighed dramatically, "In that case, withdraw my apology for not coming." Here he was having to brownnose while Tom Paris was celebrating securing funding for his other labour of love- the restoration of an art-deco, Golden Age of Hollywood era, movie theatre.
"I'll let him know, but I don't think he'll have any regrets." Fondness dripped off her voice and Amal's heart squeezed momentarily in envy. Sue him if he was a little lonely, it was the holiday season. "I'm sorry you have to do this, Amal, but the merger's so new and this is much bigger than when we had to partner up with Janeway-"
"Tell me about it." He let go of the steering wheel to pinch the bridge of his nose as his building headache began to swell, "I know what's necessary, Bee, or else I wouldn't be putting myself through this…" He sighed heavily.
"Maybe it won't be so bad, Kathryn and Mark will be there, Joe and Tucker too-"
"You know what Kathryn gets like when she's at these things, she becomes the diplomat with all the charm and lack of fun that implies. And Tucker will be in full security threat mode. At least it's Joe and not his dad, Joe's a pompous prig sometimes but Senior is insufferable twenty-four-seven-"
"Yeah, but it's Kathryn's political streak that's kept us afloat." Belén reminded him with a sigh, "Just avoid everyone and go find where Roberto's hiding out, he'll have found Nechayev's biggest TV. Or, hey, Kathryn's new hotshot hire could show her face, then you can help me decide if I need to jump ship to avoid her-"
"What happened to respecting Kathryn's leadership through this transition process?" he teased, remembering her speech to her team on Monday.
"You wrote that speech for me, remember?" she said wryly.
He snorted, "Anyway, who'd go to the Christmas party before they even step into the office?"
She clicked her tongue thoughtfully, "I don't know…for anonymity? A chance to get blackmail material on us so we don't put up a fight come January? Harry heard she's Russian, or was it Serbian? But she was definitely in the CIA, so blackmail would be the modus operandi, right?"
"Obviously I need to give Harry the HR manual to reread, if he's gossiping again." Amal shook his head, but another smile soon cracked though as he snorted again, "I'm 99% certain you have to be a US citizen to work in the CIA, so at least one of Harry's titbits is wrong."
"Par for the course." Belén agreed with a chuckle, "See, you're already in the right mindset for the party. Just ignore what everyone says. And get Kathryn drunk, that'll make her fun side come out in full force."
"I'm not getting our boss drunk at the company Christmas party in front of her boss, Bee." He told her sternly, "That's a recipe for disaster, and as entertaining as it would probably be, I need to be able to pay January's rent."
"Ditto." She muttered, then brightened again, "Then again, if you're wearing a Christmas sweater like she told you was in the invite, you'll want revenge." She picked up on his silence like a shark would blood, "You're not actually wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, are you?"
"…I aimed for classy instead of ugly."
"Ha! On second thought, you deserve what's coming to you, you're too easy! It's the week after Thanksgiving, we're barely in December, and you-"
"Got to go, I'm here!" he cut her off hastily.
She cackled at him, "Love you too! Sneak me out some vol-au-vents!"
She hung up before he could tell her where to stick her pilfered nibbles and he concentrated on finding a parking spot. It wasn't snow that made that a challenge, not in California, but typical Bay Area fog. Nechayev's drive was already packed, and since he didn't feel like having to play a game of vehicular Tetris before making his way home, he just pulled up to the sidewalk. Peering out the driver's side window, he saw that their new CEO's house was much as he'd expected- a blocky late Sixties or early Seventies mansion in white, like a knock-off version of a Bond villain's lair. It was wreathed in tasteful white fairy lights, which softened the effect somewhat, but that couldn't exactly be called a personal touch in the same way that, say, an inflatable Rudolf the Reindeer on the lawn would've been (He had neighbours who dived into the Christmas spirit headfirst).
He glanced sheepishly down at his sweater- a snowman on crimson knit- and let out a groan of frustration. Damn it, what had he been thinking?! It had seemed like a good idea for an icebreaker, an opportunity for a hearty joke, when he'd dug it out of his wardrobe, but now… They'd be laughing at him, not with him. It wasn't the right look for a Divisional Manager, Christmastime or not. And of course he hadn't thrown it over a shirt, so there was nothing for it now. Heaving a sigh, he reached into the backseat and rummaged around until he found his peacoat, pulling it on as he reluctantly left the peaceful solitude of the truck.
Locking the truck and shoving the keys into his pocket, he bowed his head to button the coat as he walked towards Nechayev's driveway. When his sweater was safely hidden, his eyes lifted again and caught the gleam of blonde hair under the nearest streetlight. Said blonde- a woman- was glowering down at her phone, utterly still apart from the stab of her thumb on the screen. "Hey, you okay?" Later he wouldn't admit to what possessed him to call out like that- though it likely had to do with the striking half profile of her face.
"Fine." She answered flatly, without so much as glancing up from the screen- not that that was particularly unusual these days. Her nostrils flared in a frustrated sigh, "I'm attempting to order an Uber." She looked up, taking her earbuds out as she scrutinised him. The spotlight of her full attention was intimidating. "What did you think I was doing?"
"Uh…" A sheepish chuckle caught in his throat, "…I honestly don't know. Out for a smoke maybe?"
"Disgusting habit." She retorted, blunt and without hesitation. Her revulsion was immediate, unguarded, and by far the most vivid expression he'd yet seen on her face.
"You're right about that." He agreed easily, taking a step closer. "You won't have any luck with Uber though, cell signals suck out here. And even if you could get one, with the 49ers' game tonight, fares will be sky-high."
"Yes, on both counts." With a grunt, she slid her phone into the pocket of her burgundy leather jacket and rocked back on her heels- the movement didn't shift a golden hair from her strict French twist. "I thought we were supposed to be in Silicon Valley?"
He shrugged one shoulder, "Supposedly." He could hear some sort of accent clinging stubbornly to her words- though precision gave her away more than any mispronunciation. Not Polish, like Kasia's, but something. "I guess they forget about their own backyard. Hey-" He glanced down Nechayev's drive, she was level with it, "-You're not here for the Stargrade Inc. Christmas party, are you?"
Her shoulders slumped, full lips twisting into a slight grimace. "Unfortunately, yes."
He huffed a laugh, a little incredulous both at her forthrightness and at his apparent ability to stumble on kindred spirits in the most unlikely of places. "Yeah, I get that. It's why I brought my truck out in this weather, all for the benefit of a quick getaway."
"My friends don't agree with you on that benefit as yet." She said regretfully, hesitating for a split second before finally turning to face him fully, "I don't drive."
"Maybe you'll need to sneak back in and convince them to get you out of here." He suggested with a teasing grin.
She blinked at him then, obviously expecting him to be more fazed. She visibly relaxed as he held her gaze steadily, offering a slight smirk in response to his grin, "As a last resort."
She had a scar on the right side of her face, dissecting the eyebrow, cutting off the corner of her eye and hooking under her ear. Though some self-consciousness was evident, he noted that her stark hairstyle exposed rather than hid anything. Whatever had happened, she was undeniably beautiful. The kind of gorgeous that suddenly had him glad of the dark, foggy night around them to offer a veil for the flush that came to his face. "Would you like some company to attempt that last resort?"
She studied him, piercing blue eyes pinning him in place. It was disconcerting, even as his ego purred at catching her gaze lingering on his face and shoulders. "I would." She confirmed with an abrupt, decisive nod. Her tone was crisp, almost clinical, but that impression hardly had time to sink in before her previously too direct gaze became skittish. She shifted her weight, left hand crossing to hold her right arm at her side, as if it hurt- perhaps it did, he'd yet to see her move it. "I'm Annika Hansen."
"Amal Kotay." He replied, just as softly, recognising that the name was a tiny sign of trust. Her eyebrows, surprisingly expressive, shot up- incredulity looked good on her. "What?" he asked with a chuckle.
She cocked her head to the side, considering, then a wry smile pulled at her lips. "I've heard of you."
"All good things I hope?"
Her eyes glittered with amusement, "Have you ever offended Kathryn Janeway or Joe Zimmerman?"
He laughed, taking his turn to be a little incredulous. Just his luck. "…Not lately. And they're both the type to let me know, so…"
She nodded vigorously, echoing his laugh. "They are."
Emboldened by her laughter, he met her gaze candidly, "Somehow I think you're that type too. If you wanted me to know something, you'd say."
She snorted, the smile she flashed his way brief but bright. "Yes." She said, equally frank. "Many people would say that's the only thing you need to know about me." She glanced away, fiddling with a bracelet on her right wrist.
"I doubt that." He said honestly, "Anyway, it's a good quality." Unwillingly, he thought of Sasha and her sly, captivating smiles that had made him feel in on the secret. How he'd once admired her slickness, her skill at driving a conversation in whatever direction she wanted…until she'd used that skill and more to screw them all over-
"Arguably, and in moderation." She said eventually, then sighed to herself as she met his gaze ruefully, "I should give you fair warning, I don't practice moderation in that area of my life."
"Thanks for the warning, but I'll be fine." He licked his lips as he chuckled, "Actually sounds like fun."
"Fun?" she smirked, closing the gap between them as her smoky eyes watched his mouth, "Then you must enjoy challenges, Amal."
"I do." Satisfaction thrilled through him as he caught her shiver and followed the rosy blush rising up under the collar of her shirt, making her ears stand out against her hair. He decided, as her eyes widened nervously, to take his foot off the pedal a little. "Speaking of challenges, we were going to head in and see whether Kathryn and Joe are willing to help you escape."
She relaxed incrementally, telling him he'd been right to change the subject, and huffed at him, "I already know they will not. As you've no doubt guessed, my coming here was their idea."
"If you don't try, you don't get." He said with a shrug, "And I don't know about you, but I'm getting cold out here. Eggnog isn't my thing, but Nechayev's bound to have coffee." He tried not to let his voice rise into a hopeful question.
"I don't drink coffee."
"And you're friends with Kathryn?! Blasphemy. You must be something special."
She snorted, shaking her head at him. "It's not remotely cold, we could remain out here."
He glanced around the foggy darkness and gripped his coat around him. "Not remotely cold? Are you from the Midwest or something? Canada?"
She hesitated, "My mother was born in Chicago, I studied one of my degrees there. I'm Swedish."
He smiled, "You know cold then. I'm a little more thin-skinned, I've lived here for nearly eight years and grew up in Arizona, so..." He chuckled sheepishly.
"Gothenburg is hardly the Arctic Circle." She told him with a shrug, "I was actually thinking of when I worked in Alaska."
"Alaska?! ¡Híjole! That's too cold for me!"
She rolled her eyes in amusement. "Sí." She stated dryly, "Alaska es muy fría, pero yo sobreviví."
He coloured, "¿Habla Español?"
"Obvio." She muttered with a quirk of her lips before she took pity on him, "I'm a polyglot."
"Oh." There was neither a boast nor false modesty in the remark, spoken just as a matter of fact and he was left wrongfooted. "…Must've been beautiful there though."
"Yes." She agreed quietly, "But isolated."
He heard the pained note in the word, though he doubted she intended for him to hear it. "That won't be a problem here, as I'm sure Kathryn assured you."
She smiled ruefully, "She was determined to convince me of the merits of the job. I was worn down by the time I was encouraged to attend this party."
"Why do you think I'm here on a perfectly good Friday night?" he laughed before regarding her seriously, "Don't worry about it, we're all good people at Voyager Enterprises at least." He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, "I don't know about this Stargrade merger yet, honestly, but Kathryn will get us out if necessary."
He squirmed a little under her gaze- it was a stupid move to badmouth his employer's new conglomerate owner in front of a new colleague he'd met minutes before… "I appreciate your candour." She told him, tone surprisingly gentle. "I trust Kathryn's judgement." She inhaled sharply, fists clenching uneasily at her sides- the movement of her right hand was slow, painful, spasmodic, but enough for him to see that it wasn't a prosthetic. "I'll be fine."
"You'll absolutely be fine, since I'm the scariest one for sure."
"You are?" She leaned in, straight face giving way to a warm laugh, "Somehow I doubt that." Her gaze dipped shyly as she gave his arm a tentative squeeze, "Thank you."
He nodded, making sure to catch her eye again, "Ready to head in, show our faces at this thing, and go home?"
She rewarded him with a shaky smile, "Yes. There is little else for it."
"Okay then, vámonos." He stepped forward to take the lead in their way up to the house, then stopped in his tracks, mortification setting in. "Wait, before we go in, I should warn you about something."
She stared at him, taken aback. "Warn me about what?"
He gave a sheepish chuckle, "…I might've followed the dress code." He opened the first button of his coat as he looked her over, because she certainly hadn't. The red leather jacket was the only splash of colour in what she was wearing, classic black slacks and a plain white shirt- the typical worker drone outfit. Kathryn might've pulled her out of some kind of presentation or meeting to attend this party, he wouldn't put it past her.
"Might've?" she echoed, unimpressed, then sighed to herself, "Okej då…" She barked out a short laugh, "Let me see."
He decided there was nothing for it and shrugged his coat all the way off, slinging it over one arm. "Well?"
"…It could be worse. Much worse." She nodded decisively, a secretive smile playing over her lips, "I like red."
A pleased laugh rumbled out of his chest, and he winked at her. "Good to know."
"Very good to know." She confirmed with a smirk, "If it makes you feel better…" She pulled something out of her pocket, "Kathryn gave me these last minute to help me blend in." A glance at her hand revealed a pair of fuzzy Christmas tree earrings, complete with baubles and bells. "Yes or no?"
He offered a challenging grin, "Yes."
True to her word, she promptly put the earrings in, though she rolled her eyes. "Don't ask me why she had these."
"Probably a secret Santa one year."
"Yeah." She snorted, hesitating for a moment before reaching back for the clip in her hair and pulling it out. With a shake of her head, she'd effectively hidden the earrings and left Amal's jaw a little open. She looked over at him, setting her shoulders back. "Let's party."
Her deadpan monotone broke him out of his staring, and he threw his head back in a rich guffaw, "Tone down your enthusiasm, would you?"
Her surprise at his warm reaction was apparent, but then she beamed at him in shy delight. If he'd thought she was beautiful before, she was stunning with that smile on her face, especially with it directed at him. "I don't think I will."
"There they are over there."
Annika suspected from Amal's tone that only her own relief exceeded his and she paused in her navigation of the room to focus on his face and offer a quick smile, strained or not. "Good."
His dark eyes crinkled, "One step closer to escape, huh?" he murmured, half teasing, half conspiratorial.
She shivered, that voice of his had hooked her, would've even if he hadn't turned out to be handsome- in fact he'd turned out to be very handsome. "Let's not…" She wracked her brain for an appropriate idiom in English, "…count our chickens." His answering chuckle told her she'd chosen correctly- thankfully her excellent memory had been one thing unaffected long-term by her injuries. She tucked her arm closer into her side, it was already aching- by the time she got home she'd probably need to keep her sling on all night to get some relief. She squinted through the crowd in the direction Amal had indicated, but couldn't make out Kathryn or Joe yet. Not that that was surprising, the transition from night to the bright white lights of the party had dazzled what little useful vision she had left in her right eye. Amal had stationed himself at her left without her having to say anything, and she strongly suspected he was keeping people at bay, whether by frowning at them or just by sheer presence, since she'd yet to have her arm jostled once, or be startled by someone coming at her from the right. Normally such a suspicion would have had her bristling, but this was someone Kathryn trusted, someone she found herself wanting to trust. That, and she didn't have the energy for nurse a bruised ego, not when she just wanted to get through this without leaving a bad impression and go home to her new apartment with its dimmer switches and familiar layout.
"Amal managed to reel you back in then?" Kathryn was suddenly in front of her, a grounding hand on her good shoulder.
She raised her chin, though she couldn't help a smile cracking through as she noted the tinsel hairband they'd been joking about on the ride over perched jauntily on Kathryn's head. "By mutual consent."
"That's the only kind." Mark remarked sagely at his wife's elbow, offering Annika a kind smile. His Christmas sweater featured scarved penguins dancing. She still wasn't entirely sure what he made of her and Kathryn's friendship, but they both seemed content for him to taste test her new recipes in exchange for his book recommendations. It had worked out so far.
"I was about to come out looking for you!" Joe said peevishly as he appeared behind the couple, "What if you'd stumbled on the kerb?"
"I would've picked myself back up." She reminded him sharply, too irritated to feel more than a smidge of guilt when he looked shamefaced.
"I know." He murmured, contrite.
"You do." She reminded him, "Thank you."
"What do you make of this ludicrous hat?" he asked, pointing to the Santa hat that had been shoved onto his balding head, an incongruous accessory to his otherwise sober suit.
Her lips quirked up, "It's very…seasonal, Joe."
He playfully huffed, pointing an accusatory finger at Kathryn, "That's what she said."
"And I'm right." Kathryn pressed.
"It'll also keep your head warm." Amal teased.
"I hadn't thought of that, thanks." Joe replied dryly, earning laughter and grinning to himself.
"Now, I've got a bone to pick with you Kathryn." Amal broke in, hands on his hips.
She snorted, "What is it this time?"
"When Bee and I talked about you dragging the newbie to this Christmas party before they'd even had a chance to start at work and meet us all, we were joking-!"
Kathryn mirrored his stance with a smirk. "And are you complaining?"
Annika watched his mouth open and close as his face reddened. "…No." He cleared his throat, "But it's hardly fair."
"I thought a more casual environment might put everyone more at ease, and it is the holidays. And I met both you and Bee at a bar, remember?"
He chuckled ruefully, "…True."
Annika turned her head to him, "Bee?"
"Belén Torres." Tucker, Voyager Enterprises' Head of Security and Kathryn's oldest friend, joined the little group seamlessly, "She's the head of Project Delta."
She smiled at the older man- looking as impeccably dapper as ever in a navy suit that set of his dark skin, his only possible concession to the party's theme being a golden tie and pocket square. "Tucker, it's good to see you."
He inclined his head towards her, bored expression warming. "You too, Annika."
"How is Penelope? Is she with you?"
"She is well, at home with the children."
"Ah." They exchanged a knowing look, since Annika was well aware that Tucker and his wife's youngest was around the same age as Ivan, a junior in high school, long past the age of constant parental supervision. The highly successful and extremely polished Penelope, the vice-president of a publishing house, wouldn't be caught dead here. Her attention returned to Amal, "So I am to be in charge of Project Omega, Ms Torres of Delta, and you…?"
"Beta." He filled in with a tight smile.
She turned to Kathryn in exasperation, "Really? Again with the Greek alphabet?"
Kathryn offered a teasing smirk, "Why not?"
Despite herself, she rose to the bait. "Because it's pretentious." She replied brusquely.
"This industry runs on pretentiousness, Annika, at least to a degree." Kathryn's voice was wry, though her face was momentarily pinched before it smoothed out, "But if it makes you feel better, the next three in-house projects can be called Whisky, Tango and Foxtrot for all I care."
"Then I claim Foxtrot right now." Annika shot back, gratified when her spur of the moment comment, born more of pettiness than dirty humour, earned laughter as rich as what Kathryn could reliably drum up.
Amal touched her arm, his tempting mouth in the beginnings of a pout. "Can we at least flip a coin for it?"
She could no more fight the smile that comment engendered that she could dim the blush it brought on. "I don't drink, or tango."
"Then you were right to call dibs." He agreed with a deep rumble of laughter she could feel settling in her stomach and curling her toes.
Mark clicked his tongue, "What a shame you won't actually be working on 'Foxtrot' together-"
Kathryn elbowed him, though she matched his canary eating grin. "Well, they'll be in the same building, same level of seniority, just entirely different departments. Unless you earned a Doctorate in Cyber Coding and Security over Thanksgiving and didn't tell me, Amal?"
He snorted, "I wouldn't keep that kind of thing secret."
"Nor should you." She barked out a laugh, "Definitely not."
"It sounds like you're all having fun over here." One of Stargrade Inc's Board of Directors, and the party's host, Natalia Nechayev, purred. "What am I missing out on?" Her polite smile became fixed and her eyes narrowed, "Dr Hansen, you're back. And here I was thinking you'd just come in earlier to wave hello and goodbye all at once."
That…was true, but she wasn't willing to admit as much to the other woman. "No." She forced out, "I just left to-"
"-make sure I came to the right door." Amal finished for her, "All of the big houses on this street look the same in the dark."
Nechayev blinked, "…Yes." She ground out, "I'm sure it could seem that way, to some people." She looked away from him in obvious dismissal, "I see that most of you have embraced the theme, how wonderful."
Joe toyed with the end of his hat as he stared her down. "Reluctantly."
"With pleasure." Kathryn countered hastily, running a hand down her red sequined dress with a pattern of gold snowflakes and tossing her head to show off the tinsel hairband. Mark put a supportive arm around her waist, showing his Christmas appropriate sweater at a good angle.
Since the velvet of Nechayev's slinky black dress was its only concession to winter, let alone Christmas, Annika couldn't see why she should get away with being passive-aggressive. "I selected my accessories specially." She pushed her hair behind her ears to show the ludicrous earrings off in all their glory, "What about you?" Beside her, Amal snorted, then hurriedly disguised it with a cough.
Nechayev shrugged, her first sign of good humour. "I suppose I focused on the decorations this year. It was relaxing, after all the work I put into the Voyager deal, but you know all about that, Kathryn. Make sure to have fun tonight."
Amal exhaled as she sashayed off. "I think I need a drink after that. Non-alcoholic, since I'm driving, but still."
"The bar in the rec room is serving hot chocolate." Tucker said, "She really did go…all out."
"She did, so play nice." Kathryn told them all with a rueful sigh, "The hot chocolate is delicious, but I'll stick to my espresso martinis for now."
"What do you think?" Amal asked Annika softly, "Hot chocolate sound better than coffee to you?"
She swallowed, wetting her lips, "Yes, it does."
"You two go ahead." Kathryn said in knowing amusement, giving Annika's left hand a brief squeeze, "It's much quieter through there, you'll be able to hear yourselves think. As for Mark and I, what do you say to hitting the dancefloor?"
"As long as it's to something other than Mariah Carey for once, I'm down." He agreed good-humouredly.
"We'll see if Nechayev changed up the Spotify playlist then." Kathryn gave an indulgent chuckle, tugging him towards the doors leading into the dining room that had been designated the dancefloor for the night. "Let's go." She grasped Joe's elbow, "Come on, you too, you've got some moves."
Joe froze for a split second, caught between bristling and puffing up with pride. The latter won out, but the smirk he sent Kathryn's way was self-deprecating. "As a matter of fact, I do."
Kathryn grinned at him before turning to Tucker, "Tucker?"
"I intend to network at this party without stepping foot on the dancefloor." He told her in no uncertain terms, making his closest friend cackle with laughter.
"What do you think?" Amal asked as Annika followed his lead and took a canape from a passing waiter. "Bélen wanted me to sneak some out for her."
Her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. "Would you have?" she asked dubiously.
"It was a joke. Mostly." He reassured her, amused, "We were both suckers for free food back in college, so-"
"Isn't everyone?" She bit into the morsel, eating it thoughtfully before speaking again. "Don't bother stealing these. I've made better."
He chuckled, thinking she was joking. "Oh, you have?"
"Yes."
"…Oh. Well, that's great!"
She shifted awkwardly, belatedly realising that she seemed boastful. "…My son, he says I'm a stress baker. I practice a great deal when I can't sleep." She moved down the hallway, keeping her right side to the wall so she could safely move quicker.
Amal knew his face must have showed surprise, but he shrugged it off. 'Her little boy must have some vocabulary to already call his mom a stress baker of all things.' He broke into a short jog to catch up with her, since she always seemed to march ahead like someone on a mission- none of Nechayev's affected slinking stride for her. "Whenever I can't sleep, I just end up punching something."
She stopped so abruptly that he nearly crashed into her. "Pardon?" Her voice was a little strangled as she spun to face him, heart racing.
He blanched, mortified. "A punching bag, just the bag. There's a 24hr gym down the stress from my apartment and I like to think I'm an amateur boxer…" 'I'm rambling, damn it…'
"Unless you compete for money, you are an amateur." She reminded him with a small smile.
"Oh, I haven't fought a competitive bout since college." He admitted with a chuckle, "And even then, it was a pipe dream, so it's definitely just for stress relief now that I'm past it."
Her gaze roamed over his chest, arms and shoulders- still well built to her eye. "I doubt you are." She said frankly, "I briefly learned some taekwondo in…" Her head tilted in thought, "…middle school?" She shrugged her good shoulder, "I remember enjoying it, not much else."
"God, I try to block all of middle school out to be honest. That was my gawky period."
She smirked, "…I'm having trouble picturing that."
"Thanks." He said with a laugh, "But really, I was the angry, gangly kid."
"Hence the boxing."
He smiled, "Exactly." He stopped at the entrance to the rec room, "Whoa, Tucker wasn't exaggerating."
"No, he was not." Annika had to agree. Not only had a sleek black bar been installed to fill the length of the room, but there was also the largest Christmas tree she'd ever seen in a private house. It was broader than it was tall, the fat base thick with glittering decorations. The star on top was easily as big as both her hands. "Wow."
He regarded her with a soft look, "Has your son decorated your tree yet?"
"Oh no, it won't be going up until Christmas Eve." In that regard, she still clung to her Swedish roots. "And since Ivan is sixteen, he'll likely put it up and then leave the decorating to me." Unless he thought she was straining her arm, then he'd step in, she thought fondly. She registered the shock on his face, though he quickly hid it, and took a deep breath. "Ivan is my foster son. Generally I take in emergency, short-term cases-" Her heart squeezed as she thought of Michelle, Adam and Robbie, "-but Ivan will be staying with me until he ages out of the system, at the very earliest." It was much better to be upfront about her priorities, Ivan would always come first. It was something Bianca had made her objections very clear on, and had been one of the many kiboshes on her rekindling something with Axel. Good riddance to both of them.
"He might surprise you." Amal interrupted her thoughts, voice soft, "Christmas is when the mantle of being a teenager can slip a little. I'd always complain, but I really loved decorating with my mom."
She smiled warmly at him, "I'm sure she appreciated that."
He swallowed, blinking rapidly. "I hope so." He murmured hoarsely, gaze floundering until it found the bar. "It looks like they have every kind of hot chocolate imaginable…" He peered at the chalkboard menu, "Milk, white or dark?"
"Milk." She answered decisively, allowing him to change the subject.
"Two of those then, please." He told the bored looking bartender, snatching up a bag of marshmallows with a grin before leading her to the plush couch in the quietest corner. As they crossed the room, he spotted Roberto- as Bélen had predicted- with his eyes glued to the game on the flatscreen. "Hey, Berto, ¿quién va ganando?"
Roberto scowled, "Not the 49ers, eso es seguro."
"Yeah." Amal agreed, unbothered, moving to introduce Annika. "Annika, this is Roberto Ayala, he works in my department. Roberto, this is Dr Annika Hansen, she's taking over Omega."
"Hmm." Roberto hummed, attention on the latest attempt at a touchdown.
Amal opened the marshmallows and volleyed one at his friend's head. "¡Oye! ¡Ayala!"
Roberto popped the marshmallow in his mouth, eyes widening comically as he finally looked Annika's way. Then he arched a knowing eyebrow Amal's way, which Amal pointedly ignored, before smiling sheepishly at Annika, "Encantado."
"Mucho gusto." Annika replied, amused.
"Please ignore him." Amal muttered, gratefully turning away from that trainwreck to claim their hot chocolate. She just giggled. He set her hot chocolate in front of her, noting how she immediately put her hand next to it- probably to aid depth perception, it pretty much confirmed what he'd thought about her right eye. He took the seat directly across from her rather than next to her, and she relaxed another fraction. He held up the marshmallow bag after adding a couple to his mug, "Want some?"
"Please." She reached over for the bag and started eating them between sips of her drink. She caught him looking and chuckled, "You offered."
"I did." He agreed, "All yours." He stretched his legs out under the coffee table, sinking into the comfy armchair.
She took another couple of marshmallows, with a satisfied nod. "So…what about your Christmas tree?" She winced at herself and shook her head. 'What a smooth transition.' "I meant, what are your plans?"
"For the tree? I was thinking red, gold, white, some silver, and putting it up…next weekend maybe?" He smiled at her, hoping he hadn't misjudged the teasing, and was relieved when she gave a soft chuckle. "As for what I'll be doing-" He hesitated, "My sister and her family are down in Santa Fe, so I might stay down there for a few days…" He should, he knew the invitation was genuinely open, but things between him and Kaya hadn't really gotten any less awkward this year…
"A long drive." Annika commented. His ears strained for the usual judgement, but her tone was utterly neutral. She might be unusual and not even be having to reign in her curiosity about his out of kilter family dynamics.
"Not as long as when she was out in the backwoods of Vermont of all places, but yeah." He sighed, running a self-conscious hand through his hair, "Honestly, I'll probably be over at Bélen and Tom's place, it's easier. What about you? Flying out to Sweden? No, wait, with Ivan being a foster kid-"
"-he can't leave the country." She finished for him, "No passport either, though that's hardly unusual here. We'll be fine. My aunt, she made the journey last year, but I can't expect that every time. My cousin and his husband might appear at my door next year for a vacation, I never quite know with them." She shrugged, the motion rather lopsided, her weak right side hardly moving. "Kathryn will likely invite us to some of her festivities, now that we're in the same city again."
"Oh, that's always fun, her mom and sister are hoots." She nodded, well aware of this. "You might see me around that week then, I tend to get pulled in too if you hadn't already guessed."
"I don't assume." She assured him wryly.
"How do you know Kathryn anyway?" He, unlike her, couldn't quite hold his curiosity back, "Do you know her and Tucker through the Navy?" Kathryn and Tucker had to be two of the closest friends the JAG Corps had ever produced, and Kathryn was in the habit of hiring veterans, old friends or not.
"I'm not cut out to be a lawyer." She replied unequivocally.
"Somehow I doubt that." He countered, echoing her words from earlier.
She smirked slightly, through her blush. "I meant that I never had any desire to be. I don't enjoy debate." This was something Kathryn could not grasp, she loved a good argument or dilemma to dig her teeth into- as did Mark, being a professor of Philosophy. Kathryn had told her that her worldview was too black and white, but Annika thought that if her friend had seen as much black as she had, she wouldn't want to analyse all the shades of grey as an intellectual exercise either.
"I get that." At this rate, she and Bélen were going to fight like cats and dogs, or bring the world down together if they ever agreed on a conviction.
"You're not entirely wrong. I was in DC while Kathryn and Tucker were at the Navy Yards. I was a government contractor." She pulled an exasperated scowl at how wide his eyes suddenly got, "I've never worked for the CIA. I'm not even eligible!"
Amal gave an embarrassed laugh, "…Does that rumour follow you around?"
She sighed, though he could hear the laughter behind it. "How did I give that away?" She chewed her lip and considered him carefully, "…It was the NSA. And just as a contractor, not as an agent."
He nodded, "Computer whizz, NSA, it all adds up."
She arched her scarred brow at him, "Does it?"
He held his ground, "Yeah." He shrugged, "Okay, next question. How do you know Joe? As far as I know, he's never worked for the government." It would be hilarious- and maybe somewhat worrying- if he had, the guy was a blabbermouth.
"No." She smirked a little, but most of the amusement had left her face. She shifted in her seat, "You're aware of the Zimmermans being a family of doctors?"
He blew out a breath, "Yeah. Senior and Junior have made it very clear they're the black sheep by branching out."
"Well, Kathryn had Joe reach out to a cousin of his who is an expert in TBIs…traumatic brain injuries." Her stomach tried to roll, but she kept her voice steady. It was better to be upfront about these things- often it was painful, but it let her sift out who was worthwhile keeping around- her success rate at that was maybe…65%. But this was going to be a fresh start, Kathryn had assured her, and she'd promised herself. She sighed, twirling the medical ID bracelet around her wrist before holding it out for him to see. "She got me on the right combination of anti-seizure medication. As for Joe, he may not be a medical doctor, but he does like to keep people under his wing." Which was both a loveable and eternally frustrating trait.
"That he does." Amal agreed softly, "I suspect that's why Kathryn took to him so fast. And anyway, it's kind of a given at Voyager, at least at our level. Our own little safety net of friends at work."
"You like it?"
"…I do." He replied, still, after all this time, a little surprised that he meant it. "It took me some time to get there, but I'm in for the long-haul now." He laughed ruefully, "As evidenced by being at this party." He peered at her face, which showed nothing but quiet understanding. "You know how I ended up at Voyager?"
She nodded firmly, "Your company and Voyager had to merge to survive."
"Right. Maquis Solutions as was. And now that combined company has been taken over by Stargrade."
"Maquis?" She cocked her head at him, "Do you like World War II history?"
"No, me and the co-founders all met under a moonlit Eiffel Tower…" He snorted to himself, though she merely raised that unimpressed eyebrow, "Yeah, no, you're right. I'm just a history geek."
"You're talking to someone who takes apart and rebuilds computers for fun." She reminded him wryly. "I'm not going to judge."
"That is fun, no question." He replied easily, and they grinned at each other. At that moment, rowdy cheers exploded from the next room and he saw Annika startle at the noise. With a sympathetic wince, he glanced at Roberto to see if a touchdown- maybe there was a TV in the main room too? – had drawn out the cheers, but his friend was still sulking, so no such luck. "Maybe they've broken out the beer pong, or started a conga line?"
She grimaced, "Helvete…" She muttered emphatically.
He snorted, "Don't worry, I won't encourage you to volunteer."
"I'd ignore you. Completely."
He clapped a hand over his heart. "Ouch. My ego."
She chuckled at that, but her face fell again when the discordant notes of an enthusiastic group singalong to 'Jingle Bell Rock' reached them. "They're out of tune."
"They're drunk." He pointed out, regarding her in amusement, "Do you sing too? Is there anything you can't do?"
"Socialise." She replied vehemently. He was tempted to laugh, but her face was just drawn enough that he knew she was mostly serious.
"You know, Kathryn can't argue that I, that we, didn't show up. So I'm happy to leave-" He swallowed as he looked over at her, "-do you want a ride home?"
She exhaled in relief, "Please." She answered, once again emphatic. All at once, she was on her feet, gaze finding the door, but then she recognised her rudeness. "I'd be grateful…when you're ready."
"I am. Let's go." He levered himself out of the chair, nodding brusquely to Roberto, who smirked at him before turning firmly back to the football game.
He let her go ahead and stayed on her left as they entered the hall. "What are you going to make tonight to relax after all this?"
She stopped mid stride as she considered, tilting her head at him in thought. "…Pancakes or waffles." She decided with a firm nod, "Ja, because Ivan will be no doubt be starving when he gets home from his sleepover. Young Quentin's father always neglects to feed them proper meals instead of snacks-"
"You don't mean Quentin from Marketing?!" At her nod, he sighed dramatically, "How is it you met him of all people before me? And his son is…a handful."
"Oh, Ivan's handled worse juvenile delinquents in the making than Junior, he's just an attention seeker."
He laughed, drawing her eyes to his mouth. "I'll take your word for it!"
"Good." She swallowed, looking up at the doorway then back at his smiling face, stiffening her spine as she stepped into his space. "The decorator neglected the mistletoe."
Amal blinked at the non-sequitur, but caught on without so much as glancing above them, his irises thinning as he gazed down at her, lips quirking as his warm breath ghosted over her face. "Do you think you need it?"
She held his gaze, sensing his stance widening to make room for her to slide close. "…No?" she hazarded.
He chuckled huskily, tongue flicking out over his lips. "Right answer."
"Good, that's good-" She barely remembered to take a breath before leaning in and pressing her lips to his. Not quite clumsy, but not her smoothest transition. Thankfully, he more than made up for that, easily slipping his tongue past her lips. Tentative became gentle, then almost tender before urgency deepened the kiss. When they parted, breathless, she was clutching at his novelty sweater and his arm was around her back, broad palm having worked under her jacket, warm against her thin shirt. She was glad of the embrace, because her knees actually swayed as laughter tried to override her breathlessness. "You're a very good kisser, I thought you would be, but-" She caught herself, mortified, rocking back against the wall. "Förlåt, my-" What was the idiom?! "-mouth runs away with-"
"No, you can keep saying that." He said with a soft laugh, thumb brushing over her flushed cheek. "Do you-" His gravelly voice cracked and he winced a little as he swallowed, "-still want that ride back home?"
There was a vulnerability in his handsome face that she knew was reflected in her own, and that perhaps affected her as much as the kiss itself. "Definitely." She let go of his sweater and smoothed out its wrinkles, "Would you like pancakes or waffles?"
He kissed her impulsively on the side of the mouth. "Waffles."
"Okay." She agreed, happily let him pull her into his side, "We can have those for breakfast then."
A/n: Merry Christmas, happy holidays and a safe and successful 2022 to you all. I appreciate all reviews.
Translations:
"Alaska es muy fría, pero yo sobreviví." "Alaska is very cold, but I survived."
"¿quién va ganando?" "Who's winning?"