24 - Brittany House/Mark Holden - something to keep her
Title: something to keep her
Fandom: 24
Characters: Brittany House, Mark Holden
Prompt: 3. I'll always thank the Lord when my working day is through, I get my sweet reward to be alone with you.
Word Count: 1040
Rating: PG
Summary: Athletes are often superstitious. Brittany and Mark have their own rituals.
Author's Notes: Title is from Rickie Lee Jones' "On Saturday Afternoons In 1963." Futurefic by a couple of months, may possibly be alternate universe or may turn out to be canon. It depends on if I can convince the skeptic in me that Mark would actually do this sort of thing. This isn't really obvious fluff, but I love it because it's so very them -- understated, simple, awkward, not obvious at all. So, it'd be fluff if you were them. And it's just cute.
He leans in the doorway, not saying a word. Not until she starts fussing with her jacket collar and making a face at the reflection in the mirror. Mark has never realized how hard Brittany can be on herself until he started sharing every aspect of her day with her.
"You look beautiful," he says, straightening up and walking to stand behind her. When she doesn't answer him and doesn't quit, he grabs her wrists and gently moves her hands away. "Stop," he advises her gently. "You're not going to accomplish anything but put yourself in a fit."
She snorts. "Easy for you to say."
"Hey," he reminds her somewhat defensively, "you didn't have to wear a suit and tie to work for nine years."
"Except now I do, and you don't," she replies, eyeing him standing there in jeans and a black T-shirt, the brown leather jacket hiding the gun holster that he's wearing. "Talk about irony," she concludes glibly, and Mark just rolls his eyes, looking somewhat annoyed and bashful at the same time.
"Come on," he replies, "you know it's part of the job."
"I know, I know." She nods, and exhales, a sign that she's giving up on the argument. She runs a hand through her hair again, half focused on him and half on the face in the mirror. She looks older now that she's a mother and a coach, not just a jet-setting young agent. She's still not used to that. Nor is she used to the attention, which is obvious from the pained look on her face. "Just, you know...everybody's watching."
"I think they'll have more important things to concern themselves with than your wardrobe. And even if they did, yours is way more expensive than mine." Mark dares to crack a smile and is glad when she laughs softly. He settles his hands on her shoulders, looks deep into her eyes. "You look fine. Better than fine. Stunning. I'd kiss you, but I don't want to smudge the lipstick."
Brittany laughs softly, tipping her head back. "Remind me why you said yes."
"Because giving a beautiful woman backrubs and stealing her bacon at breakfast is just so difficult." Mark rolls his eyes. "It's three and a half months out of the year, I'm still getting paid, it keeps me sharp on my skills." A pause, giving her a serious look. "And because you asked."
She brings her head back to his level and her jaw is hanging open. "You did not do this for me."
"I so did."
"Did not." She's aghast now, pointing a finger squarely into his chest. "This is the guy who says I'm not allowed to miss him. You did not haul your ass to New Jersey because of me."
"You're right." He looks crestfallen, dropping his gaze to the floor. "I did it because I really, really love tomatoes."
"Smartass." Brittany punches him lightly in the arm. "Why'd you do it?"
Mark leans on the counter, the other hand on his hip, favoring her with a small smile. "Let's think about this. Either way, I'm still making the same money. I still get to spend six months, give or take, doing my own job. But for three of them, I get to travel across the country. I get to spend time watching basketball games and hanging out in nice hotels. It is my job to steal your breakfast, swipe the toiletries out of our hotel room, give you massages, and generally be a pain in your ass. Plus, there's no meetings, no paperwork, and no bureaucracy. The big question is why wouldn't I do this? It's like a vacation."
"I feel so loved," she says, joking.
"You are," he replies, and he isn't.
She studies his face for a moment. Those deep brown eyes, that cocky little smile. She wraps her arms around him and hugs him tight, wardrobe be damned. They may not be the best of friends, but when it matters, they know that they can count on each other. That she'll always be safe with him. That he's one more piece of home she can hold in her hands, if only for a little while.
When she pulls back, she's smiling. He nods his head toward the door, and they walk out into the hotel room. She snatches her watch off the nightstand, fastening it to her wrist. "Jake's coming tonight, so play nice," she advises him, picking her clipboard and game materials up off the bed.
"When do I not play nice?" he implores her, shrugging. "I don't know what you see in him."
"I don't either."
Mark laughs, shaking his head. "He's a friend of yours, I'll be good. You just promise me that you'll go and kick some Stanford ass."
"I will," she replies, "it just might be problematic."
"Why?" he asks, holding the door for her and waiting for her to step through. He locks it behind them, then checks both ways before he slips beside her, one hand on her back, the other subconsciously on his gun. He'll be ready for any possible scenario. A few doors down, he sees Joe Scott emerge and nods at the Princeton head coach.
Brittany, however, is grinning. "Jake's a Stanford alumnus."
"Oh, it's on now." Mark smirks back. "Can I laugh if they lose? You gotta give me that."
She chuckles. "We have to win first."
The smile he gives her is genuine and confident. "I don't think that's going to be a problem," he says, and she knows he says that without knowing that much about the sport of basketball at all. To him, he's not even talking about the team. He knows her too well, and that's all that he needs to know about this.
Brittany smiles back and then turns her attention to heading for the car that will take them to the game. If Mark has confidence, then she can believe that things will go according to plan. After all, this is just the way that things have always gone. Everything will be okay, because they're okay.
She's safe with him there.
Neither of them needs to say a word about that to know the truth of it.
Fandom: 24
Characters: Brittany House, Mark Holden
Prompt: 3. I'll always thank the Lord when my working day is through, I get my sweet reward to be alone with you.
Word Count: 1040
Rating: PG
Summary: Athletes are often superstitious. Brittany and Mark have their own rituals.
Author's Notes: Title is from Rickie Lee Jones' "On Saturday Afternoons In 1963." Futurefic by a couple of months, may possibly be alternate universe or may turn out to be canon. It depends on if I can convince the skeptic in me that Mark would actually do this sort of thing. This isn't really obvious fluff, but I love it because it's so very them -- understated, simple, awkward, not obvious at all. So, it'd be fluff if you were them. And it's just cute.
He leans in the doorway, not saying a word. Not until she starts fussing with her jacket collar and making a face at the reflection in the mirror. Mark has never realized how hard Brittany can be on herself until he started sharing every aspect of her day with her.
"You look beautiful," he says, straightening up and walking to stand behind her. When she doesn't answer him and doesn't quit, he grabs her wrists and gently moves her hands away. "Stop," he advises her gently. "You're not going to accomplish anything but put yourself in a fit."
She snorts. "Easy for you to say."
"Hey," he reminds her somewhat defensively, "you didn't have to wear a suit and tie to work for nine years."
"Except now I do, and you don't," she replies, eyeing him standing there in jeans and a black T-shirt, the brown leather jacket hiding the gun holster that he's wearing. "Talk about irony," she concludes glibly, and Mark just rolls his eyes, looking somewhat annoyed and bashful at the same time.
"Come on," he replies, "you know it's part of the job."
"I know, I know." She nods, and exhales, a sign that she's giving up on the argument. She runs a hand through her hair again, half focused on him and half on the face in the mirror. She looks older now that she's a mother and a coach, not just a jet-setting young agent. She's still not used to that. Nor is she used to the attention, which is obvious from the pained look on her face. "Just, you know...everybody's watching."
"I think they'll have more important things to concern themselves with than your wardrobe. And even if they did, yours is way more expensive than mine." Mark dares to crack a smile and is glad when she laughs softly. He settles his hands on her shoulders, looks deep into her eyes. "You look fine. Better than fine. Stunning. I'd kiss you, but I don't want to smudge the lipstick."
Brittany laughs softly, tipping her head back. "Remind me why you said yes."
"Because giving a beautiful woman backrubs and stealing her bacon at breakfast is just so difficult." Mark rolls his eyes. "It's three and a half months out of the year, I'm still getting paid, it keeps me sharp on my skills." A pause, giving her a serious look. "And because you asked."
She brings her head back to his level and her jaw is hanging open. "You did not do this for me."
"I so did."
"Did not." She's aghast now, pointing a finger squarely into his chest. "This is the guy who says I'm not allowed to miss him. You did not haul your ass to New Jersey because of me."
"You're right." He looks crestfallen, dropping his gaze to the floor. "I did it because I really, really love tomatoes."
"Smartass." Brittany punches him lightly in the arm. "Why'd you do it?"
Mark leans on the counter, the other hand on his hip, favoring her with a small smile. "Let's think about this. Either way, I'm still making the same money. I still get to spend six months, give or take, doing my own job. But for three of them, I get to travel across the country. I get to spend time watching basketball games and hanging out in nice hotels. It is my job to steal your breakfast, swipe the toiletries out of our hotel room, give you massages, and generally be a pain in your ass. Plus, there's no meetings, no paperwork, and no bureaucracy. The big question is why wouldn't I do this? It's like a vacation."
"I feel so loved," she says, joking.
"You are," he replies, and he isn't.
She studies his face for a moment. Those deep brown eyes, that cocky little smile. She wraps her arms around him and hugs him tight, wardrobe be damned. They may not be the best of friends, but when it matters, they know that they can count on each other. That she'll always be safe with him. That he's one more piece of home she can hold in her hands, if only for a little while.
When she pulls back, she's smiling. He nods his head toward the door, and they walk out into the hotel room. She snatches her watch off the nightstand, fastening it to her wrist. "Jake's coming tonight, so play nice," she advises him, picking her clipboard and game materials up off the bed.
"When do I not play nice?" he implores her, shrugging. "I don't know what you see in him."
"I don't either."
Mark laughs, shaking his head. "He's a friend of yours, I'll be good. You just promise me that you'll go and kick some Stanford ass."
"I will," she replies, "it just might be problematic."
"Why?" he asks, holding the door for her and waiting for her to step through. He locks it behind them, then checks both ways before he slips beside her, one hand on her back, the other subconsciously on his gun. He'll be ready for any possible scenario. A few doors down, he sees Joe Scott emerge and nods at the Princeton head coach.
Brittany, however, is grinning. "Jake's a Stanford alumnus."
"Oh, it's on now." Mark smirks back. "Can I laugh if they lose? You gotta give me that."
She chuckles. "We have to win first."
The smile he gives her is genuine and confident. "I don't think that's going to be a problem," he says, and she knows he says that without knowing that much about the sport of basketball at all. To him, he's not even talking about the team. He knows her too well, and that's all that he needs to know about this.
Brittany smiles back and then turns her attention to heading for the car that will take them to the game. If Mark has confidence, then she can believe that things will go according to plan. After all, this is just the way that things have always gone. Everything will be okay, because they're okay.
She's safe with him there.
Neither of them needs to say a word about that to know the truth of it.