Strange and Beautiful (Gift for thedreamisreal)
Title: Strange and Beautiful
Author: gatty
Recipient: thedreamisreal
Pairings: Lydia/Jackson
Rating: G
Word Count: 1558
Warnings: None
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Lydia and Jackson need to work a few things out.
Author's Notes: Set pre-Season 1. Happy Holidays!
The blood red stain had seeped all down Lydia’s cardigan. The frosty white cashmere was damp and stuck unpleasantly to her cleavage. There was no time to change - her mother had already announced dinner and the other guests were taking their places around the grand table in the dining room. All except Jackson. He’d vanished half an hour ago, to the bathroom he’d claimed, and no one had seen him since. She had checked both bathrooms but there was no sign of him. The frustration boiling in her stomach had driven her to pour another glass of red wine, even though she was already feeling unsteady on her high heels. Wobbling in the direction of the dining room, she’d turned her ankle, struggling to balance on the stilettos, and tipped the contents of the narrow stemmed glass down her front. Her mother had arched a critical eyebrow, and Lydia had turned back to find a replacement garment. Luckily the wine hadn’t spread to her dress yet, and she shrugged off the cardigan quickly, tossing it into the laundry. The dress underneath was a pale blue silk, almost eggshell grey under the right light. The skirt was an acceptable two or three inches above her knee, but the neckline scooped and plunged in a way that had had her father’s boss taking slantwise glances at her breasts he didn’t think she noticed when she handed him his drink. Her mother had taken her to one side and expressed in no uncertain terms that she was to cover up or stay up in her bedroom like the attention seeking brat she was acting like.
The Christmas Eve dinner was a last ditch attempt by her parents to play at happy families for the people they wanted to impress, before the divorce was formally announced in the new year. Seated around the dinner table was a mix of her father’s superiors at the office, and vacuous socialite ‘friends’ of her mother. Lydia had invited Jackson in an attempt to keep her sanity but that plan clearly wasn’t working. He’d been sulky and stand offish all evening, answering her mother’s polite attempts at conversation with grunts. And now she’d ruined a two hundred dollar piece of cashmere and was left with the choice to either suffer the letchery of a middle aged pervert or pull on a dress shirt over her Alexander McQueen artwork of a gown.
She toed the pedal of the trash can in the kitchen, debating running away to join the circus or at least disappearing long enough that she could persuade her dad that she needed a trip to Aspen before the vacation was over for her mental health. Her musing was interrupted by her father sticking his head out of the dining room, face blotchy from drink.
“Honey, get your ass back in here before I have to listen to another debate over kitten heels versus flats, jesus.” His eyes flicked down to her cleavage. “And cover yourself up, this isn’t a night club.”
He disappeared and she took her foot off the pedal. There was a trickle of wine left in her glass, and she downed it, looking out of the window at the heavy drift of snow falling on the garden. She could barely see the summer house in the dark. It had been so cold recently, she hadn’t been down there since - since halloween, she realised. She let herself out through the french doors, teetering on the icy paving. Her halloween costume had involved a lace shawl, she’d left it down in the summerhouse when she and Jackson had escaped the thronging teenagers doing beer bongs to get to second base for the first time. It wasn’t the prettiest piece of clothing, but it would go with her dress, and fend off the attentions of anyone who thought her breasts were theirs to look at.
The air outside was piercing, shooting bolts of coldness through her chest with each breath. She hurried down the path that was covered with a good three inches of snow already. The clouds had been building all day, and finally the long overdue snow was beginning to blanket the neighbourhood in thick swathes. To her surprise the door to the summer house was open a fraction, letting out a chink of soft yellow light. She eased it open, and peered inside.
“Oh for -” She cut herself off, and quickly entered the building, shutting the door behind her.
Jackson looked up from the couch where he was nursing a beer, several empty bottles already lined up on the table before him.
“Gonna tell me off?” he mumbled, looking tired more than drunk.
He was slumped back, his dinner jacket rumpled and eyes bleary.
“So you’re hiding from me now?” Lydia folded her arms half in indignation, half to tuck her hands into her armpits to keep them warm. While the wind didn’t penetrate the summer house, it was still freezing.
“Just needed a break.”
“Or three,” she said, nodding towards the empty bottles.
“Sorry I’m not your perfect show dog.” He glowered, fingers drumming on the bottle in his hand.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I’m not in the mood to be paraded round and shown off to a bunch of cougars looking for fresh meat. Well done, Lydia. You caught me. Can’t let any opportunity slide to make sure everybody knows that.”
“I invited you tonight because I didn’t want to be stuck on my own with my parents pretending everything’s perfect, and I thought my boyfriend might want to keep me company. My mistake.”
She turned on her heel, shawl forgotten, and made to leave.
“Wait.”
She turned back. Jackson was holding out another beer to her.
“You don’t have to go.”
“Really? I thought you didn’t want shallow little me ruining your pity parade.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Like what? You’re the one who asked me out, Jackson. But all you’ve done since is complain. I thought - “ Lydia trailed off, and pursed her lips. The conversation had turned serious before she realised what was happening and she wasn’t half drunk enough to deal with it.
“Thought what?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re right. I did ask you out. Because I liked you. There, I said it. Happy now?”
“Liked? As in past tense?”
Jackson rubbed his eyes, pressing his fingers in. “No. I still like you. I thought I even… but. I don’t know. It seems different than what I thought it would be like.”
“What did you think it would be like, Jackson? That you just decide we’re dating and everything would be like in some movie? We’re real people. Shit happens.”
“I know!” There was a thick tension in his voice, a note of emotion she never usually heard.
“Stop trying so hard.”
Jackson snorted. “I thought you knew me better than that.”
Lydia rolled her eyes, then crossed to the couch and sat down next to him. She took the opened beer and drank a swallow.
“I do know you. Which is why I know you need to lighten up. I like you how you are, okay? And sure, I show you off. Why the hell wouldn’t I?”
Sitting next to the warmth of his body made her realise how cold she’d gotten. She found herself leaning against him, pressing into his heat. Without warning, he slung an arm around her shoulder and pressed his forehead against her hair.
“God I’m drunk.”
“Yup.”
“Emotions are so stupid. Why do girls always talk about them? If you tell anyone I said any of this I’ll kill you.”
She rolled her eyes again, feeling his breath flutter in her hair. Turning her head, she let her eyes close, leaning against his chest. They stayed like that for a good five minutes, their breathing falling into synch as the snow fell outside. Eventually Lydia pried herself away, and pulled out the lace shawl from where it was half wedged down the side of the couch cushion.
“I better get back. You can stay here, I’ll tell them you’re not feeling well.”
Jackson pressed a kiss to her temple. “Give me another chance on New Years’?”
“Hell no. You’re making it up to me before then. You’re taking me jewellery shopping or we’re done.”
“I mean it," he said quietly. "Give me another chance.”
Lydia softened, raising a hand to touch Jackson’s cheek. “Of course.”
Even with the shawl, it was cold leaving his embrace. She shivered and drew it closer around her in a memory if his arms. At the door, his voice called out to her again.
“I just -”
She turned and found he had risen from the couch and was fumbling with his keys. He covered the distance to her in a few long strides, and held out a key.
“I want you to have this.”
Lydia’s breath caught in her throat. Tentatively, she reached out, some part of her still afraid he would snatch it back at the last minute, make a joke of it and push her away again. But her hand closed round the warm metal and then he drew back, leaving her holding his key.
“Keep it safe.”
She nodded, and slipped the key into the front of her dress.
Outside the snow had covered her earlier footsteps, blotting out her past mistakes in a fresh blanket of pure white.
Author: gatty
Recipient: thedreamisreal
Pairings: Lydia/Jackson
Rating: G
Word Count: 1558
Warnings: None
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Lydia and Jackson need to work a few things out.
Author's Notes: Set pre-Season 1. Happy Holidays!
The blood red stain had seeped all down Lydia’s cardigan. The frosty white cashmere was damp and stuck unpleasantly to her cleavage. There was no time to change - her mother had already announced dinner and the other guests were taking their places around the grand table in the dining room. All except Jackson. He’d vanished half an hour ago, to the bathroom he’d claimed, and no one had seen him since. She had checked both bathrooms but there was no sign of him. The frustration boiling in her stomach had driven her to pour another glass of red wine, even though she was already feeling unsteady on her high heels. Wobbling in the direction of the dining room, she’d turned her ankle, struggling to balance on the stilettos, and tipped the contents of the narrow stemmed glass down her front. Her mother had arched a critical eyebrow, and Lydia had turned back to find a replacement garment. Luckily the wine hadn’t spread to her dress yet, and she shrugged off the cardigan quickly, tossing it into the laundry. The dress underneath was a pale blue silk, almost eggshell grey under the right light. The skirt was an acceptable two or three inches above her knee, but the neckline scooped and plunged in a way that had had her father’s boss taking slantwise glances at her breasts he didn’t think she noticed when she handed him his drink. Her mother had taken her to one side and expressed in no uncertain terms that she was to cover up or stay up in her bedroom like the attention seeking brat she was acting like.
The Christmas Eve dinner was a last ditch attempt by her parents to play at happy families for the people they wanted to impress, before the divorce was formally announced in the new year. Seated around the dinner table was a mix of her father’s superiors at the office, and vacuous socialite ‘friends’ of her mother. Lydia had invited Jackson in an attempt to keep her sanity but that plan clearly wasn’t working. He’d been sulky and stand offish all evening, answering her mother’s polite attempts at conversation with grunts. And now she’d ruined a two hundred dollar piece of cashmere and was left with the choice to either suffer the letchery of a middle aged pervert or pull on a dress shirt over her Alexander McQueen artwork of a gown.
She toed the pedal of the trash can in the kitchen, debating running away to join the circus or at least disappearing long enough that she could persuade her dad that she needed a trip to Aspen before the vacation was over for her mental health. Her musing was interrupted by her father sticking his head out of the dining room, face blotchy from drink.
“Honey, get your ass back in here before I have to listen to another debate over kitten heels versus flats, jesus.” His eyes flicked down to her cleavage. “And cover yourself up, this isn’t a night club.”
He disappeared and she took her foot off the pedal. There was a trickle of wine left in her glass, and she downed it, looking out of the window at the heavy drift of snow falling on the garden. She could barely see the summer house in the dark. It had been so cold recently, she hadn’t been down there since - since halloween, she realised. She let herself out through the french doors, teetering on the icy paving. Her halloween costume had involved a lace shawl, she’d left it down in the summerhouse when she and Jackson had escaped the thronging teenagers doing beer bongs to get to second base for the first time. It wasn’t the prettiest piece of clothing, but it would go with her dress, and fend off the attentions of anyone who thought her breasts were theirs to look at.
The air outside was piercing, shooting bolts of coldness through her chest with each breath. She hurried down the path that was covered with a good three inches of snow already. The clouds had been building all day, and finally the long overdue snow was beginning to blanket the neighbourhood in thick swathes. To her surprise the door to the summer house was open a fraction, letting out a chink of soft yellow light. She eased it open, and peered inside.
“Oh for -” She cut herself off, and quickly entered the building, shutting the door behind her.
Jackson looked up from the couch where he was nursing a beer, several empty bottles already lined up on the table before him.
“Gonna tell me off?” he mumbled, looking tired more than drunk.
He was slumped back, his dinner jacket rumpled and eyes bleary.
“So you’re hiding from me now?” Lydia folded her arms half in indignation, half to tuck her hands into her armpits to keep them warm. While the wind didn’t penetrate the summer house, it was still freezing.
“Just needed a break.”
“Or three,” she said, nodding towards the empty bottles.
“Sorry I’m not your perfect show dog.” He glowered, fingers drumming on the bottle in his hand.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I’m not in the mood to be paraded round and shown off to a bunch of cougars looking for fresh meat. Well done, Lydia. You caught me. Can’t let any opportunity slide to make sure everybody knows that.”
“I invited you tonight because I didn’t want to be stuck on my own with my parents pretending everything’s perfect, and I thought my boyfriend might want to keep me company. My mistake.”
She turned on her heel, shawl forgotten, and made to leave.
“Wait.”
She turned back. Jackson was holding out another beer to her.
“You don’t have to go.”
“Really? I thought you didn’t want shallow little me ruining your pity parade.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Like what? You’re the one who asked me out, Jackson. But all you’ve done since is complain. I thought - “ Lydia trailed off, and pursed her lips. The conversation had turned serious before she realised what was happening and she wasn’t half drunk enough to deal with it.
“Thought what?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re right. I did ask you out. Because I liked you. There, I said it. Happy now?”
“Liked? As in past tense?”
Jackson rubbed his eyes, pressing his fingers in. “No. I still like you. I thought I even… but. I don’t know. It seems different than what I thought it would be like.”
“What did you think it would be like, Jackson? That you just decide we’re dating and everything would be like in some movie? We’re real people. Shit happens.”
“I know!” There was a thick tension in his voice, a note of emotion she never usually heard.
“Stop trying so hard.”
Jackson snorted. “I thought you knew me better than that.”
Lydia rolled her eyes, then crossed to the couch and sat down next to him. She took the opened beer and drank a swallow.
“I do know you. Which is why I know you need to lighten up. I like you how you are, okay? And sure, I show you off. Why the hell wouldn’t I?”
Sitting next to the warmth of his body made her realise how cold she’d gotten. She found herself leaning against him, pressing into his heat. Without warning, he slung an arm around her shoulder and pressed his forehead against her hair.
“God I’m drunk.”
“Yup.”
“Emotions are so stupid. Why do girls always talk about them? If you tell anyone I said any of this I’ll kill you.”
She rolled her eyes again, feeling his breath flutter in her hair. Turning her head, she let her eyes close, leaning against his chest. They stayed like that for a good five minutes, their breathing falling into synch as the snow fell outside. Eventually Lydia pried herself away, and pulled out the lace shawl from where it was half wedged down the side of the couch cushion.
“I better get back. You can stay here, I’ll tell them you’re not feeling well.”
Jackson pressed a kiss to her temple. “Give me another chance on New Years’?”
“Hell no. You’re making it up to me before then. You’re taking me jewellery shopping or we’re done.”
“I mean it," he said quietly. "Give me another chance.”
Lydia softened, raising a hand to touch Jackson’s cheek. “Of course.”
Even with the shawl, it was cold leaving his embrace. She shivered and drew it closer around her in a memory if his arms. At the door, his voice called out to her again.
“I just -”
She turned and found he had risen from the couch and was fumbling with his keys. He covered the distance to her in a few long strides, and held out a key.
“I want you to have this.”
Lydia’s breath caught in her throat. Tentatively, she reached out, some part of her still afraid he would snatch it back at the last minute, make a joke of it and push her away again. But her hand closed round the warm metal and then he drew back, leaving her holding his key.
“Keep it safe.”
She nodded, and slipped the key into the front of her dress.
Outside the snow had covered her earlier footsteps, blotting out her past mistakes in a fresh blanket of pure white.