(no subject)

[takecourage]

Christmas has always been a weird thing for Alex. She'd been raised at least nominally Jewish (though her grandmother had always cared more about that than Mira, with all of her crystals and her buddhas and her new-age shit), but they'd still had a Christmas tree at home. She'd still gotten gifts. This year is different, though, because this year she's spending it in Darrow, a million miles away from both Van Nuys and New Haven.

And she was spending it with Darlington.

She spends most of the day in her kitchen at Bramford, cooking. She makes a variety of things, traditional and un, stuff that Mira used to make, that her grandmother used to make, things she likes. She'd sent Darlington out the day before to buy wine, since she didn't know the first fucking thing about wine. And there's gifts, and, for the first time in years, Alex feels like she's home.

It's not something she dwells on too long, but it's there.

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[takecourage]

She is, as ever, pretty endeared by his rich boy nonsense, drawn to the paradox that is this man in front of her compared with the virtual monk's cell that he'd called a room back at Black Elm. When he touches her back, she leans slightly into the touch; it's unconscious, and she barely realises that she's doing it. Once he's out of the room, she pulls dinner together, serving up and, after a few minutes, coming out into the lounge, juggling two plates and cutlery. She sets his plate down in front of him.

"It's a bit of a mix," she apologises. "It's mostly stuff I remember my grandmother making for Hannukah. Latkes. Keftes...those ones are spinach, and...these are leek. The chicken's got turmeric and cumin." She flushes faintly. "I hope it's okay. It's...all I really know how to cook."

[more_magic]

When he hears the rattle of plates and the sound of the silverware drawer opening and closing, Darlington pours them both a glass of wine, looking up just as Alex comes into the room. "Here, let me," he starts, setting the wine bottle down and starting to get up from the couch just as she places his plate in front of him. "Or you've got it on your own, Stern," he says, laughing softly at the brief, hectic jumble they'd both slipped into.

She'd given him a brief sketch of the menu the day before, when he'd been sent out for wine and those few remaining ingredients, but seeing it all laid out--not to mention smelling it, that rich mix of spices and the faint scent of oil--is a different matter entirely. "It looks delicious," he says, taking note of the faint pink of her cheeks--whether a flush from the heat of the stove, or embarrassment, he doesn't know. "Better than I might do, hosting someone last minute."

[takecourage]

"I don't believe it," says Alex, folding herself into the end of the sofa before she reaches for her wine, taking a sip before she picks up her plate. She doesn't know anything about wine, and even she knows enough to know that it's good. She nudges him with one sock clad foot. "I call bullshit. I bet you cook as well as you do literally everything else I've ever seen you do."

[more_magic]

"I acquit myself decently," he concedes, letting out an almost-surprised huff of breath as she pokes him with her foot. "One of the things I had to learn a little about, once it was just me at Black Elm." He'd started out subsisting on chicken rolls and frozen convenience store burritos--what fifteen-year-old boy wouldn't, when left to his own devices?--but in addition to being terrible those things cost money he hadn't entirely been able to spare, once the reality of his situation truly set in. Bernadette had left behind some cookbooks, though, and he'd applied himself first to learning a few of the simpler-looking ones, then some of the more complex when he managed not to cook up anything too vile.

That, of course, would come a few years later, with a very different sort of experiment and a tarry sludge at the base of a ruined stockpot.

"I'll have to make you dinner one night soon," he continues. "Then you can compare."

[takecourage]

There are, so figures, parallels with how they grew up; how on their own they'd been, only Alex had made a choice and Darlington hadn't had any choice at all. She curls into the cushions, eating her food, lost for a moment in how nostalgic the taste of everything makes her feel.

"We can do gifts after we eat, if you like..."

[more_magic]

She goes quiet for a time, and Darlington does too, savoring the meal in front of him and topping off Alex's glass and then his own when they get low. There's something close and cozy about it; he thinks suddenly of that damp afternoon they'd spent at Black Elm, drying out in front of the fire and listening to music on the stereo. This isn't quite that, but it's close enough to make him smile.

"Sounds like a plan," he says when Alex speaks again, nodding towards the gift bag he'd set on the table. "I'd like that a lot."

[takecourage]

Alex doesn't have a tree, but she'd set Darlington's gift on the tv unit, where she'd lit a few candles. The metallic ribbon that it's wrapped with catches the light. "You can stay tonight. If you want. You're going to have drunk too much to drive at this rate."

[more_magic]

"Haven't bought a car here yet anyway," Darlington points out, though for a moment he wonders if the magic of this place might leave the old wine-colored Mercedes idling at the curb like some kind of holiday miracle. It's a silly thought, and fleeting; reminiscent only of the day he'd gotten his license and sat out on Lighthouse Point waiting and waiting for the sight of something marvelous. "But if you'll have me, I'll stay."

He smiles. "I won't even try to convince you to let me sleep on the couch."

[takecourage]

For a moment there, Alex had forgotten, because there he was, so at ease, it seemed impossible that they weren't in New Haven. But they're not, are there? Nothing's changed and, somehow, everything has.

"What's the point in having a king sized bed if I make you sleep on the couch?" she says. Most of the time, they're managing to stay separate but, a few times, she's woken up with Darlington's sleeping form cuddled close. She's really not above taking what she can get.

[more_magic]

Darlington rolls his eyes, smiling against the rim of his wineglass before he takes a drink. "No point at all, I suppose," he says. "You win, Stern."

They finish their dinner and drink the last of their wine; before Alex can get up, he stands, picking up their empty plates and taking them to the kitchen, leaving them in the sink. As he comes back to the couch, he loops his fingers through the ribbon handles of the gift bag on the coffee table, moving it over to where Alex is sitting. "Do you want to go first, or shall I?"

[takecourage]

"You go first," she says, hauling herself up off the sofa and bringing him the parcel that she'd wrapped. "Full disclosure - it's to replace one of yours that I stole from Black Elm and then...kind of lost."

[more_magic]

"Well, now I'm concerned," he says, his tone wry in a way that masks the sudden and unexpected flare of something warm in the center of his chest at the thought of Alex having anything of his to lose from Black Elm at all. He takes the present from Alex when she holds it out, resting it in his lap until she's sat back down.

After tearing off the paper, he opens the slim box and unfolds the tissue paper inside, smiling a little disbelievingly at the soft brown wool of the beanie inside. "Thank you," he says, genuine and sincere. "It's lovely."

[takecourage]

"It's maybe a bit nicer than the one I lost," she says, teasing him. "I don't know why you had a hat like that in the first place. It was awful."

[more_magic]

The description, brief as it is, helps Darlington place the hat she's talking about--and had, apparently, lost at some point in his absence from New Haven. "I know the one you mean," he says, the fingers of one hand still idly rubbing at the soft wool, far finer than the pilled fabric of the one back home. "I found it in a trunk in the attic years ago." He laughs. "It was so scratchy I wore it for a day and shoved it in the back of the closet. Where, I assume, you found it."

He only thinks for a moment about Alex digging through his closet at all.

After draping the beanie on the arm of the sofa, Darlington reaches for the gift bag, handing it to Alex. "Full disclosure," he says, echoing her words from before with a smile, "I saw this when I was out getting the wine yesterday and couldn't entirely resist."

[takecourage]

Alex honestly can't remember the last time she'd been given a present that was wrapped up like this. It's absolutely fucking ridiculous, but she feels the corners of her eyes prickling with tears. She blinks furiously, laughing a little bit at herself as she wipes at her eyes with the cuff of her sweater.

"Shit, sorry." She laughs and then starts to unwrap the tissue paper bundle. What's inside is a voluminous scarf of the kind she'd never have needed in California, but probably would have loved the shit out of in New Haven's chill. Navy, spangled with stars. And so, so incredibly soft. "Darlington...This is way too nice for me."

[more_magic]

He hadn't expected it to make her cry, and as Darlington sees her eyes go so suddenly bright just from the packaging he's both startled and concerned. "No need to apologize, Stern," he says softly, lapsing again into silence as she tears into the tissue paper wrapping.

The way her expression shifts into a surprised delight once the scarf is revealed, however, is exactly what he'd hoped for. Another of those unexpected flares of warmth kindles itself in his chest, and he smiles. "It's only as nice as you deserve," he says. "Especially after I came crashing into the middle of your living room two days before Christmas. In no fit state for...just about anything."

[takecourage]

"It was fine. You're fine," she says, stroking her hand against the fabric of the scarf. "It's...I've literally never owned anything this soft in my life. It's...really beautiful."

[more_magic]

"Well, now you do," he says, equally pleased and matter-of-fact. "I am glad you like it so much, I...I thought it'd suit you."

He'd told Alex the truth when he said he'd seen it the day before, but that's not when he'd bought it. That had only happened earlier today, after a night of internal debate and a wish to do this right after all the confusion and strife his arrival had seemed to engender. He's not foolish enough to think that a scarf can solve whatever happens between them in his future and Alex's past, but it's enough of a start for someplace like here.

"If nothing else, it'll keep you from being quite so relentlessly Californian whenever it starts to snow."

[takecourage]

She rolls her eyes at that, unfolding the scarf so that she can drape it around her shoulders like a shawl even though it's warm in the apartment.

"I'm sorry I'm not as hardy as you," she says, rolling her eyes. "I have nearly frozen to death every time I've slept at Black Elm and I'm not apologising for complaining about that."

[more_magic]

Watching her sweep the fabric around her narrow shoulders, the stars catching the light from the lamp on the table by the couch, he's almost distracted enough that he misses what she says--but only almost. What blossoms in his chest is too odd and unformed a feeling to be called hope, but Darlington's not sure of a better word.

"...you've stayed the night at Black Elm?" he asks, faint disbelief running through the question. "More than once?"

[takecourage]

She nods, reaching for her wine glass. "A couple of times. Once after Halloween, because I wasn't going to leave you on your own when I didn't know what the fuck they dosed you with. You wanted to go home, not to il Bastogne or the Hutch, so..." She shrugs. "I took you."

[more_magic]

"That was good of you," he says, pushing back a flicker of shame at the reminder of that night still only days ago to him, no matter what the calendar said now. "Especially as you had to do nearly the same thing all over again. Absent being able to take me home."

He looks at her then, stars around her shoulders; weighs whether to ask the next question that comes to mind, not wanting her to turn her head away and for those walls to go up behind her eyes once again. Not tonight, he decides, doing his best to simply let it go. Another night, just not this one.

"At least the heat's more reliable at the Bramford."

[takecourage]

"I didn't mind either time," she says, a smile flickering at the corner of her mouth for a moment beore she drowns it with a sip of wine. "It's definitely more reliable. I don't know how you lived like that."

[more_magic]

"It builds character," he says with a completely straight face, his expression serious and his voice containing a faint lecturing tone. For a moment, he's every bit the uncompromising Virgil--until it breaks and he grins instead, something wide and amused. He shakes his head, reaching for the wine bottle and pouring a bit more into his glass.

"The furnace is nearly as old as the house," he says. "I'd planned to update it, but then the roof sprung another leak and a family of raccoons moved into a corner of the attic...lots of things. It added up."

[takecourage]

For a moment, he's every inch the man that she'd met when he walked into her dorm room, but then his face blossoms into a broad grin, and Alex finds herself smiling in response, holding out her own glass in a silent request.

"It could have been so beautiful," she says. "Eventually."