FanFic: Take my hand, set me free.
Title: Take my hand, set me free.
Characters-Pairings: Erica, Hobbes, Sid - Erica/Hobbes
Rating: PG
Summary: “Any type of physical contact they’ve ever had usually he has initiated (and it’s rarely ever under pleasant circumstances), or it involves her punching him in the face (which is not pleasant, period).”
Disclaimer: I obviously DO NOT own anything... I'm just a fan expressing some love.
Authors Note: This is completely un-beta’d so all mistakes (humongous and/or minor) just credit them to that.
Random Rambling: I've set my mood on "accomplished" because everytime I manage to write fic that I don't think sucks 100% but is closer to a mere 95% suckiness, I feel very proud.
~~~
He’s noticed she is generally overly affectionate... with everyone else that is.
She’s always finding excuses to touch Jack (in a way that he will never admit bothers him, but it does). She always has a comforting shoulder for Ryan. She is very mothering towards Lisa. Even Sid and Chad, she’s sweet and smiley and manages to put them at ease. So yes, generally, very affectionate. Except with him.
Now if you were to ask him if it bothers him at all, he’d say “Who bloody cares!” (The real answer to that would be that he cares. But again, he’d never admit that either).
The point s she’s never touchy feely, or even remotely caring towards him, and any type of physical contact they’ve ever had usually he has initiated (and it’s rarely ever under pleasant circumstances), or it involves her punching him in the face (which is not pleasant, period).
So when she walks in the bunker, leans on the table where he’s sitting, cleaning his guns, and tenderly touches his forearm he finds it out of place. Not awkward or uncomfortable. Definitely not unwelcome, just... odd.
Odd enough to stop pretending to ignore her, and look up.
“Are you okay?”
“That’s funny, I was about to ask you the exact same thing.”
And he directs his gaze towards his arm, where her hand is still resting.
It is probably then that she realises that they don’t do that, that she’s not affectionate with him. So she pulls her hand away and folds her arms squarely in front of her chest as he goes back to his guns.
Defensive and ready to pounce.
Yes, this is definitely them.
“I’m just asking, because I thought, cool level headed composure was your thing. And you? This morning? The complete opposite of cool, level headed and composure.”
He drops the semi automatic he’s currently working on, with a loud thud, and turns to fully look at her, raising his tone to a volume that he knows pretty much verifies her previous comment.
“If I recall I was very specific about them staying in the car, for obvious reasons might I add. And the fact that they both...”
“Well technically they were still in the car.”That throws him off.
“What?”
“Seeing as they drove the car into the warehouse, they technically didn’t do anything you didn’t tell them not to.”
“Semantics is your argument here?”
“Speaking strictly technically.”
“Erica!”
“I said...”
“Say technically again, and I’ll shoot you.”
He’s furious, but she cracks a smile anyway. She probably finds it amusing seeing him like this. (After all he’s made it a point for her to never see anything more than the mercenary and the wisecrack chauvinist.)
“All I’m saying, not technically, is that without the diversion you wouldn’t have made it out of there. They both deserved a ‘thank you’ and a ‘good job’, not you going off on them like that.”
He listens to her speech, like he has so many times, and just like every other time, begins to shake his head with exasperation.
“This is just so typical of you. Sid has knowhow. Lisa is an extremely high inside source. They are valuable resources, not to be easily risked. Me? I’m just the muscle. I’m a dime a dozen. Something happens to me you just move on to the next name on your FBI most wanted list...”
“Hobbes, that is not...”
“... and I’ll have you know I would have been fine on my own. The last thing I needed in that situation was to have to worry about those two on top of everything else.”
He finishes his part and finally notices that she’s looking at him with a rather inquisitive expression drawn on her features.
“What?”
“You were worried about them.”It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A firm conclusion.
“As I said, they are both valuable...”
“No.”She cuts him off.
“You were genuinely worried. You were concerned in case something happened to Lisa, or Sid, or worse both of them. Not because they are ‘resources’, but because you care about them."
She’s more thinking out loud, piecing the whole thing together, and talking to herself than to him, so he decides not to argue (not that he can, because really, she’s not wrong. But in his typical fashion, he’d never admit it). Instead he shakes his head again, adds a huff this time, and stands up determined to move away.
But she’s up straight the same second and blocks him. He tries to move around her, but she stops him again, by putting her hand on his arm... touching him again. Only this time it’s conscious, because she doesn’t move it even as he sternly stares at it and then at her.
“Kyle...”
And it’s only the second time ever she’s used his first name, and it’s the only time, ever, she’s spoken to him in that voice. The one she usually reserves for the priest (of all people).
He’s not really thinking after that. Cool level headed composure today has kissed him goodbye since four o’clock in the morning after all, so he wraps his arm (the one she’s touching) around her waist and pulls her to him, ducks his head, catches her lips in his and kisses her like he hasn’t kissed a woman in ages: Tender and thorough and deep.
She’s kissing him back which catches him off guard a bit. But what really surprises him the most is the way she’s generally responding to him.
Her other hand clutches his other bicep and she moans a little as she presses herself to him. She trails both her hands up his arms, to his shoulders and finds them a resting place on his neck pulling him deeper.
They break for air, but she keeps her palms firmly in place, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, her thumbs caressing his bearded cheeks, while he’s still holding her close, one arm still around her waist, and his other crawled up her back, his hand cupping her neck, their foreheads touching.
He looks at her lips (she’s biting on the lower one and he wishes he was doing that for her instead) then searches for her eyes. She seems focused on his mouth too, but after a beat diverts her gaze somewhere to the left.
He takes a deep breath, preparing to say something or to kiss her again (he hasn’t decided), but the door opens suddenly at that specific moment.
They jump a couple of feet apart each of them going for a gun, and pay attention to the descending form from the stairs.
“Okay, I think I figured it out... What pissed you off I mean.”Sid clarifies as he notices the two confused (slightly flustered) faces staring back at him, both guns limply being held to their sides.
“It’s the car right? You’re upset because we messed up the car.”
She shuffles in her spot and puts the gun back in its holster, while he clears his throat and answers dryly.
“Yes. It was about the car. The array of stray bullets flying about had nothing to do with it.”
“Of course they did! They messed up the car!”
She suppresses a laugh, but he doesn’t argue, or comment, just rolls his eyes, and lays his gun back on the table.
“Well, worry not! I talked to a college buddy, whose girlfriend’s half sister has a step uncle who runs a semi illegal - cause I know you like that sort of thing - chop shop with - here’s the kicker - untraceable parts. He said he’ll fix up the jeep, quarter of the price... Now he wasn’t very specific about said price, but I dunno, it sounded like a decent deal... plus I made sure to insinuate you own and can use gunsss - plural -, which I believe is a safe way to insure we don’t get coned... So?”
The kid has that anxious, proud, Boy Scout face on, and his instinctive reaction is to roll his eyes again. But he makes the mistake to turn and look at her just as he’s about to, and she has this full blown smile as she’s looking between him and Sid that just make him stop short. Instead he lowers his head and takes a deep breath.
“Sounds fine Sid.”
“Alright! So, shall I make the call?”
“Yes, I said fine...”
“Great! Okay! Good!”
Sid pulls out his phone and starts walking back up the stairs but stops midway to the door and turns.
“Hey, Hobbes?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re really sorry. I mean really, really sorry... We just thought... and you know, you were alone in there... and just... anyway, point is, we’re sorry.”He finishes lamely.
“Don’t be.”
He’s pretty sure it’s the first thing he’s said to the kid without any hint of sarcasm, or roll of his eyes, or shaking of his head. There are no frustrated deep breaths, no threats, nothing that usually defines their interactions.
And he’s pretty sure Sid grasps the reality of that fact too and the genuine sentiment behind his statement by the way he’s looking at him: eyes wide, full of surprise and that proud boyish smile of his.
Sid keeps that face on even as he quickly exits the basement, not to ruin the moment, phone in hand clearly misdialling by the way he’s franticly moving his thumbs on the screen of his phone longer than necessary, missing a few steps and stumbling on his way out.
He does shake his head and exasperatedly smiles a little at that, but is glad Sid isn’t there to see him do it.
And then he realises it’s just her and him alone again and he has a feeling this will be very unpleasant and awkward.
So he goes for his regular offence. The smirk is in place and the witty remark ready at the edge of his tongue as he turns to look her.
The problem is she’s ready for it and has also gone on her regular defence: arms crossed around her chest face set, “No Bull Shit Allowed” mentally written across her forehead.
The setting this time, is textbook them.
And he hates it.
So he wipes off the smirk, he swallows the sarcasm (and it tastes so bitter) and sits back with his guns, starting from the top: Ignoring her.
She waits maybe a minute, before she accepts that he’s not going to continue this in any way shape or form, until she uncrosses her arms. She seems uncertain of what to do herself, now that he won’t play by their regular rules.
She almost takes a step closer to him, almost goes to touch his arm again. Almost...
But she’s Erica Evans, and he’s Kyle Hobbes and this is not what they do.
So she puts her hands in the pockets of her jacket, instead, and walks away as he pretends he’s not looking at her while she does.
When she reaches the door she turns to look at him, and he stops pretending not to.
He opts for a different approach this time.
No smirk, just a slight smile, a simple quirk of his lips, upwards.
No mischievous smoulder, just clear eyes looking back at her.
And she is half way out the door but she reciprocates, both the smile and the look, and it is such an affectionate gesture, that he finds it a little hard to breathe.