Chapter Text
Yaz likes her coworkers. Really, she does. She’s just not a terribly social person and her idea of relaxing after a long week is quite the opposite of her coworkers (which is getting pissed at the bar until they have to be poured into cabs home). But she also wasn’t raised to be rude, so she lies.
(Yeah, that’s kinda worse, but really, it’s a little white lie, how bad could it be?)
The first time they invite her to Friday night after work drinks, she declines, politely but firmly. She makes up some excuse about working the next morning and not wanting to deal with a hangover. Her coworkers laugh, joke about Yaz coming in on her day off and being a kiss-ass, but eventually concede. Yaz spends the night with a glass of wine and a book, legs tucked under her as the tv plays in front her and Sonya (who spends half of it scrolling through her phone).
The next time, they rib her for it, asking if she just doesn’t think she can handle drinking with them. They push it, and Bill says, “What, you think Kevin will out drink you? C’mon Yaz, we’ll pay for your pint.”
The lie comes off her tongue far too easily to be comfortable.
“I can’t, I have to take my girlfriend to work — she works odd shifts.”
It’s like dangling meat in front of shark infested waters and she knows it as soon as the words are out of her mouth. With all the brushoffs and lies about taking Sonya to the store or picking her up from a friend's house, this is the one that is going to bite her in the ass and she can feel it.
There’s a few raised brows, a few jabs about the sudden Mysterious Girlfriend Yaz has never mentioned until now, and Yaz quickly makes up some excuse about it being fairly new, about not wanting to talk about her (Mysterious Girlfriend) until it’s a bit more serious. They eventually accept this (lie) and move the conversation back to Friday night plans, which bar they’ll go to and who’s probably going to get the most pissed in the least amount of time (it’s Kevin, it’s always Kevin).
And then it just sort of...spirals.
As in, every time she doesn’t want to do something outside of work and needs an excuse, she brings up the Mysterious Girlfriend (who she apparently loves very much, who works odd hours, and who she could end up seeing herself marrying someday).
(That last part was a complete accident — Jen was talking about her engagement and the conversation turned to Yaz, and someone (probably Bill) asked if Mysterious Girlfriend is The One, and Yaz, having not been paying much attention to the conversation as she was filling out paperwork for a case, just mumbled “yeah, think so”.)
So it’s sort of not her fault it ends up as big as it does. Or, well, it’s completely her fault because she’s the one who gave them that ammo to begin with, but she really, really didn’t mean for it to spiral this bad.
“This bad” as in Sergeant Sunder clapping her on the shoulder and saying, “I’m quite excited to meet this mysterious girlfriend of yours, Yaz. I’m sure she’ll get along quite nicely at the district party.”
Yaz can’t even form a proper response — she doesn’t even know how he knows about her lie — and she can only nod as he walks off.
Fuck.
So, yeah. She has a fake girlfriend, and now she either needs to make up an excuse and face the wrath of her coworkers (who now talk about Mysterious Girlfriend at least three times a week) or get an actual girlfriend.
Telling the truth is completely out of the question.
“Tell them she fell in a pool and drowned,” Ryan suggests, when he gets done having laughed his ass off for a full two mintues after she’d explained the situation.
“In Sheffield, in the middle of winter?”
Ryan shrugs. “Maybe it’s an inground pool.”
Yaz throws a chip at him. He tries to move out of the way but it smacks him on the forehead and falls to the grass.
“Unhelpful,” she says.
They eat in relative silence, watching the cars drive past the park they’re sat at (on one of the rare warmer days now) when he says, “Why not try Craigslist?”
Yaz looks at him, confused. “Craigslist?”
“Yeah, y’know, the place you can buy other people’s junk?”
“You can get a date on Craigslist?” That doesn’t sound...legal.
“Oh, yeah. It’s usually not weird people but you gotta be careful. I could help you look!” he offers, pulling out his phone.
“Ryan, I can’t get a date on Craigslist. What if she turns out to be a serial killer or something?”
Ryan raises his brows and looks her up and down, taking in the work uniform she still wears. “You’re a fed, aren’t you? What’s she gonna do — try and kill you after a party full of other feds?”
Yaz glares at him — he does have a point but you’d have to beat her senseless to get her to admit it.
She finally just shakes her head. “Nah, it’s alright. I’ll probably just ask that girl at your shop — what’s her name? The one with the huge arms?”
“Oi, not funny. I told you, she’s crazy. I don’t know how but she is.”
She’s not going to try Craigslist — Ryan is bloody mental.
She’s almost fully through her shift the next day when he texts her. She pulls her phone from her jacket pocket and opens up the message. It’s a link to an ad on Craigslist. Yaz rolls her eyes but clicks it anyways.
The link takes her to a bright white page, blue text links down the side, and a black, bold post header that says, “Need a date for Christmas? Newport, Kentucky. ”
Yaz texts him, Ryan this is for someone in the states.
O yea, sry, he texts back a minute later.
Yaz looks up from her phone and scans the surrounding area where her cruiser is parked. She’s stuck on rounds for the evening and her speed gun is set up on her dashboard as cars drive past. She’s waiting for anyone to give her something to do, but so far no one has even gone slightly over the speed limit (though she isn’t hidden, so that’s not a big surprise). She swipes back to the ad and clicks on the Personals link on the left side of the page, scrolling through the posts.
After the third one offering “services ” she exits from the site and shuts her phone off.
He sends another link that night after she gets off work and she clicks it. It opens to the now familiar white background, and the first line of the bolded header is, “Told your friends and family you’re in a relationship? ”
Yaz calls him.
“Are you seriously sending me another one?”
“It’s perfect, Yaz. She’s here in Sheffield, too. It says she’ll pretend to be your date for the holidays.”
Yaz holds the phone away from her ear and scrolls through the post where the woman offers a “realistic dating experience to show off to your family and friends so they’ll stop asking you if you’re seeing anyone ”.
“Isn’t this just an escort?”
Ryan scoffs. “No, Yaz. An escort would cost actual money — she says she’ll do it for a free meal at whatever party you’re going to.”
“She’s not gonna like...want to really date after the one time, is she?” Yaz asks tentatively. Getting a fake date from Craigslist just seems...sleezy, somehow, and she definitely doesn’t want to end up with a stalker or something.
“Yaz, are you really askin’ if she’s gonna fall in love with you? Mate, c’mon.”
Yaz rolls her eyes. “I’m not asking if she’ll fall in love with me, I’m asking if she’s gonna expect, y’know, more than just being my date to one party?”
“Right, look at her picture then,” Ryan says.
“What picture?” Yaz pulls the phone from her ear again and scrolls down the page. Sure enough, there’s a picture accompanying the short post.
It’s a black and white shot of a woman, hair barely brushing her shoulders, face serious as she stares into the camera. Her chin is lifted almost imperceptibly, hands shoved into the pockets of a leather jacket that she wears over a black t-shirt. Her features are sharp with one brow raised just slightly in a way that could be taken as challenging.
“She’s fit right?” Ryan asks.
Yaz rolls her eyes and scrolls back up to the post. “Ryan, it says she posted this two weeks ago. I’m sure she’s got plans.”
“She doesn’t, I’ve already asked.”
“You what?”
“I already asked. I emailed her an hour ago. Says she’s free the night of the party. She’s waiting for your response.”
Yaz wants to hit him — she would if he were here. “Why did you email her? I don’t even know if I’m taking a date to the party.”
“Why not? It’s not like you’ve got many other choices anyways. Unless you wanna tell your coworkers you’ve been lyin’ about having a girlfriend all this time — which honestly looks quite sad.”
“It’s not —” Yaz huffs. “It’s not sad — I’m not even looking for a relationship right now, and I only lied so they’d stop inviting me out.”
“And that didn’t work, so now you’ve gotta either tell the truth or go all in. Which is it gonna be, mate?”
Yaz looks down at the picture on the screen of her phone.
Bloody hell.
She gets the email address from Ryan as she walks through the front door of her flat. He says her name is James (which almost puts Yaz off of it, because, not to push stereotypes but James is definitely a man’s name and it would not be hard to pretend to be a woman just to lure other women to a location to hurt them). She uses an old email address to reach out, typing and deleting the message approximately 25 times while Sonya and her mum talk about Sonya’s new job over dinner.
“Yasmin, phone down at the table,” her dad scolds when Yaz doesn’t answer a question directed at her.
Yaz clicks the power button and places it face down on the table, chewing on her lower lip as she tries to think of the least weird way to ask this person (man or woman) to be her date to a company party full of cops.
She doesn’t get another free moment until after dinner, after her mum makes her wash the dishes as Sonya dries them next to her, and after she gets back into her room and kicks off her boots, peeling off her work uniform and hanging it over the desk chair.
She types into the email, James, my friend Ryan gave me your contact info. He said you’re available the night of the party?
It’s as nonchalant and not creepy as she’s gonna get, so she hits send and throws her phone onto her bed. She reaches around and unhooks her bra, letting it fall to the floor before she grabs a baggy t-shirt from her dresser and pulls it on. When she slides under the covers and picks up her phone a few minutes later, there’s a new email waiting for her.
[email protected], 11:37 pm : Hi! Yaz right? yeah, I’m available. Ryan said it’d be this thursday?
[email protected], 11:38 pm: Do I need to bring anything? Is it like a potluck or something?
[email protected], 11:38 pm: No, you don’t need to bring anything. Are you free on Tuesday to meet and go over some things?
[email protected], 11:40 pm: Brilliant yeah, I’m free. Let me give u my number, we can make plans to meet. There’s a great little cafe down the street from my flat, if u want to go there.
James sends a phone number along with an address to a cafe nearby and Yaz saves both in her phone.
Yaz is early — just a bit early. Not even that much early.
She’s half an hour early.
Her leg bounces underneath the table as she picks at the skin on her thumb with her nail. The tea she’d ordered when she’d arrived is now cold as it sits untouched in front of her. Every time the bell jingles brightly over the door her head whips towards the entrance, expecting to see the woman from the pictures clad in the leather jacket and everything, and so far every time it’s someone that doesn’t look at all like the picture.
Yaz taps her thumb on the small table a few times before picking up her phone and swiping up to unlock it. She brings up the confirmation text she’d received from James less than an hour earlier saying she’d be there when she finished up with work, then swipes out of that and pulls up a browser window. The now familiar website is already brought up and Yaz scrolls down to the bottom where the black and white picture sits. She studies it for a few seconds while chewing on her lower lip, then looks up at the cafe patrons to see if any of them match the picture. None of them do so Yaz looks back down at the screen. She’s gotta admit, James is really pretty, and would definitely be Yaz’s type if the circumstances were any different.
“Yasmin Khan?” a voice says beside her, close enough to make her jump in her seat and slam her phone down face down on the table like she’d just been caught looking at porn. Yaz looks over at the woman standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of a long grey coat. She smiles apologetically. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you there. I assume you’re Yasmin?”
Heart beating hard against her chest, Yaz gives a small awkward laugh. “Sorry, I weren’t paying attention,” she says. “Yeah, yeah I’m Yaz — you can call me Yaz.”
James smiles brightly and Yaz feels her stomach give a flutter at how bright it is, how much it absolutely lights up her face (and the room around them, basically). “Yaz, brilliant. I’m James, from the emails. Do you want a coffee? Or another…” she trails off, nodding to Yaz’s cold tea.
“Oh, yeah, actually,” Yaz says, pushing back her chair and standing up. She throws the cup in the bin on their way up to the counter and James rummages around in her coat pocket before pulling out a small wallet.
“Just tea?” she asks, turning to Yaz when they get to the register. Yaz nods and James then rattles off another drink that sounds like it’ll be mostly sugar before handing her card to the woman.
“Let me pay for my own,” Yaz starts, reaching into her back pocket for her wallet.
James shakes her head and takes the card and receipt from the cashier, shoving them both into her pocket. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
They both move to the side to let the next people order. “You don’t have to pay my way. The party won’t have anything you need to pay for anyways.”
James rocks back on her heels and nods. “What kind of party is it going to be? Where do you work?”
“Police station. It’s close by, actually.”
James raises her brows in surprise. “You’re a fed?”
Yaz just barely keeps herself from rolling her eyes. “Yeah, we don’t call it that, though,” she says.
James nods. “So this party…”
“It’s at the station. Well, it’s at a building near the station. Next door.”
“And it’ll be full of police officers?”
“Right.”
James blows out a puff of air that moves the blonde hair that had fallen in front of her face. “Christ. I’m really gonna have to do my homework then, aren’t I?” she laughs.
The barista calls her name and James takes the two drinks, then hands one of the cups to Yaz.
“So you haven’t told me why you need a fake girlfriend for this party yet,” James says, leading them back to the table and setting her drink down before shrugging off her coat and draping it over the back of the chair. She’s wearing honest to god braces underneath, framing the rainbow across the front of a black shirt, tucked into the waistband of her jeans that barely reach the top of her boots. The sleeves of the white shirt she wears underneath barely come halfway down her forearms and Yaz wonders for a moment if she owns any clothes that are actually long enough for her limbs. “I assumed it was just a way to get them off your back, really.” She plops down in the chair and leans forward.
Yaz chews on her lower lip again and looks around the cafe for a second before her eyes land back on James studying her interestedly. The straw of the coffee (if you could even call it coffee — it looks more like a milkshake than anything) pulls down her bottom lip slightly as she takes a sip, eyes never leaving Yaz.
“It started as a lie, just to get out of after work drinks,” Yaz starts, looking back up to curious hazel eyes. “I didn’t think — I didn’t know my boss would actually expect to meet the fake girlfriend I had mentioned. I didn’t even know he knew about it.”
James nods like it makes sense and isn’t the literal plot to a rom-com (which this isn’t, because it’s not like they’re going to fall in love or something. And besides, there are a lot of reasons it wouldn’t work between them — Yaz not wanting a relationship, being too busy with work, the length of this woman’s pants).
“So you’re really in it now, huh? Either tell the truth, or get a fake girlfriend.”
“Telling the truth isn’t an option,” Yaz says. Even the idea of admitting to her coworkers that she’d made up the Mysterious Girlfriend just to get out of drinks with them makes her uneasy. They’d never let her live it down. And they’d also force her to go out with them for the rest of time.
“You could always say you broke up before the party.”
Yaz shakes her head. “I don’t think they’d believe that. They’re very…”
“Nosy?”
Yaz snorts. “I were gonna say perceptive, but that works too.”
“Right then,” James says, taking another sip of her drink and setting it down on the table. “We’ve got a lot to learn about each other if we’re gonna convince a bunch of feds we’re a happy, healthy, romantic couple.” She grins. “You wanna start?”
how was the date?
Yaz rolls her eyes at her phone as she walks away from the cafe. She’d spent almost two hours sat at that table with James and honestly, it had felt like only a few minutes. Like some sort of time vortex had taken the cafe and slowed everything else while they asked questions back and forth, sometimes writing the important answers in the notes app on their phones. She’s funny — like, really funny — but in the way you don’t really expect, and she’s obviously charming with a bright, bubbly grin and long winded rants about the most random of topics.
Her coworkers might actually believe this lie.
Wasn’t a date, Yaz sends back.
The reply is almost immediate; is she as fit as the pic??
Of course he’d ask that. She’s not even surprised. I’m not answering that.
so yes???
Yaz ignores him and slips the phone into her jeans pocket, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets to try and conserve some warmth in the biting cold.
should we wear matching jumpers?
Yaz stares at the message on the blinding screen for a second, wondering who the fuck James is before she remembers the date (not a date) from the day previous.
Also, it’s three in the morning.
Absolutely not, she types back.
She’s about to fall back asleep when her phone chimes next to her.
do you want matching necklaces?
As long as they won’t turn my skin green, Yaz sends.
I would only buy you the best, yasmin khan.
I’m on my way sorry.
Yaz looks down at her phone, stepping from one foot to the other to try and keep herself warm in the crisp night air. Her breath fogs out in front of her and she shoves the phone and her hands in her jacket pockets. She can hear laughter and music spill out from the building when two people open the doors to enter, warm air hitting the backs of Yaz’s legs. It’s bloody cold and James is late and Yaz might kick her ass if she didn’t need her so badly. She’s already gotten three comments from various coworkers asking where her Mysterious Girlfriend is, and one of them even mentioned a bet that Yaz made her up (which, okay, he’s right but still). Her toes are slightly numb in her boots and the snow on the pavement crunches under them as she keeps switching feet, bouncing a little to keep warm.
“There she is, woman of the hour. Where’s your other half?”
Yaz exaggeratedly rolls her eyes, more for Jack’s benefit than anything.
“Oh, don’t give me that, Yaz. You know I’m your favourite one here,” he says, walking up to her in a long dark trench coat, hands shoved into the pockets. His grin would be contagious if she wasn’t so bloody cold.
“She’s on her way,” Yaz says.
“Uh huh. Listen, are you sure she exists? Cause a few of us have a bet going —” He dodges Yaz’s arm that swings out to hit him in the shoulder, laughing the entire time. “I’ve got my money in, don’t let me down, kid.”
“Jack, I’ve been working here for 6 years. I’m not a kid anymore.”
“Hey, don’t say that. You’ll always be a rookie in my book,” he says, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. She can smell his cologne on the jacket pressed against her cheek and she tries wiggling away.
“Let go or I’ll drop you,” she mumbles against his coat.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Yaz pulls her hands out of her pockets and pushes at Jack who stumbles back once, grin already on his face as he looks from Yaz to James standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket. She’s wearing a literal rainbow scarf looped around her neck and jeans cuffed halfway up her boots (a bit longer than the ones she’d worn previous).
“Yasmin, don’t be rude, introduce us,” Jack says, sticking his hand out with a charming grin. “Captain Jack Harkness.”
“Not a captain anymore, mate,” Yaz reminds him. “Jack, this is James. James, Jack.”
She takes Jack’s hand and shakes it, meeting his gaze with a slight lift of her chin. “Pleasure to meet you, Jack. Yaz has told me a lot about you.” That’s a lie — Yaz told her his name and that he was probably going to ask a lot of questions — but the way it so easily rolls off her tongue, sounding believable even to Yaz’s ears, surprises her.
Jack takes the bait and looks over at Yaz, raising his brows. “Have you? Yaz, I knew I was your favourite but c’mon.”
“She said you once shot yourself in the foot,” James replies with a half smirk (and Yaz doesn’t even remember mentioning that with more than a passing comment). James’ hand reaches for Yaz’s like it’s muscle memory and she tangles their cold fingers together.
“Almost! I almost shot myself in the foot — I missed. Wasn’t my fault, either,” Jack defends.
“It were pretty close, mate,” Yaz points out, then says, “Give us a minute, yeah?”
Jack’s brows raise and he backs up towards the door. “Right, you want some alone time. Don’t stay out here too long, kids. You’ll catch a cold.” And with that he turns and goes into the building. Warm air rushes out for a few seconds as the door closes behind him, and then they’re alone on the sidewalk.
Yaz drops her hand. “Sorry ‘bout him. He’s a lot sometimes.”
James waves it off. “I’ve had worse,” she says, digging around in her jacket pocket. “Also, I got us matching necklaces. I figured it could be like a thing, y’know, how couples do that sometimes.”
“Have you never been in a relationship?” Yaz realizes she actually doesn’t know. They talked a lot in the cafe a few days ago but there’s still a lot she doesn’t know about this woman — namely, most of her past.
James’ face is unreadable as she pulls a small chain from her pocket. “Been a while,” she says, voice even and measured. “Here, this one is yours.” She holds it up and the rose gold heart shines in the streetlight. It’s simple, something Yaz would actually wear on her day to day (if she were in a relationship, which she is not — not really, anyways). The heart is barely the size of her pinky nail and hangs off the chain at an angle.
“Turn around, I’ll put it on you,” James says, motioning for Yaz to turn.
Yaz does so, pulling her hair to the side. James reaches around and cold fingers brush the short hairs on the back of Yaz’s neck as she fiddles with the clasp, goosebumps rising in the wake of the cold.
“Where did you get these?” Yaz asks. Her hand comes up and touches the small heart now resting on her shirt.
“Oh, just bought em’. Got a friend that owed me a favor.” James works on the clasp for a few seconds more before dropping her hands and stepping back. When Yaz turns back around her eyes go to the necklace and she gives a grin. “Brilliant, looks great. I’ve got one too, under me scarf. Shall we go in?”
“God, yes. It’s bloody freezing out here,” Yaz says.
James darts to the door and holds it open, letting Yaz walk in first.
The party is...a lot.
They’re handed champagne almost as soon as they get their coats off — James shrugging off her leather jacket and taking Yaz’s coat from her to hang up, like a true gentleman — and Yaz turns to her right outside the coat closet. Her eyes briefly flick up and down her outfit; her black shirt is replaced with a blue jumper, sleeves pulled up to her elbows, with mustard yellow braces clipped to her jeans. The chain on her ear shines in the light and matches the small necklace that rests over the jumper — the necklace that matches Yaz’s (but hers is silver).
“Ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” James says, looking anxious for the first time since they’d met (two days ago, but still). “Do you think they have those little sandwiches at the snack table?”
Yaz follows her eyes towards the table set up against the far wall, covered in various snacks and desserts. “You can go find out, if y’like. I’ll be over there.” She nods her head to where Jack leans against a wall, talking up some guy she’s never actually seen before (maybe he’s the spouse of someone here? Wouldn’t be the first time Jack has done that — and ended up with both of them).
“Right, got it,” James says. Her eyes dart around them for a few seconds before she picks up Yaz’s hand and places a soft kiss to her knuckles, a glint to her eyes. “I’ll be right back...honey dearest.”
“I’ll kick you out if you say that again,” Yaz deadpans. James grins and lets out a breath that ghosts over the back of Yaz’s hand. Yaz’s stomach flutters in response (to the breath, not like, anything else, obviously).
“Sweet pea?” she tries again.
Yaz shakes her head. “Absolutely not.”
“Honey bunch?”
Yaz can feel the edges of her lips start to twitch with each ridiculous name James tries. “You’re really pushing it.”
“I’ll stick to Yaz then. It’s a good name.” And then she’s off — dropping Yaz’s hand and turning on her heel and making a beeline for the snack table, her sights set on the food.
Yaz watches her go for a few seconds before tearing her eyes away and starting the walk over to Jack who now stands at a table with three of her coworkers. He’s animatedly talking and moving his hands, his drink sloshing in the cup as he probably talks about yet another brush with death (“I’ve died so many times they’re starting to call me immortal.”). His face brightens when he sees Yaz approaching and he holds his arm out like he’s going to pull her into another hug.
“There she is! That was fast, I figured you’d be at least another ten minutes,” he says with a suggestive wink.
“One day I really will report you to HR,” Yaz deadpans, pushing him to the side when he tries to wrap his arm around her shoulder. She leans forward on the tall table between him and Bill and takes a sip from her glass.
“Even when you’ve told your girlfriend so much about me?” he says.
“She’s given you a big head. I’m definitely never leaving you two alone.”
“Aw, come on, Yaz. I feel like we’d be a great team!”
“So she really exists?” Bill asks from across the table.
Yaz gives her a glare. “Of course she exists. What, did you think I was lyin’?”
“Dunno, mate. I’ve seen worse. Is she fit?” Bill aims the last part to Jack who nods enthusiastically.
“Very. Short, blonde, looks like a little biker. Though I bet she’s not that rowdy in b—”
“If you finish that sentence I will pull your tongue out,” Yaz threatens.
“Where is she?” Bill turns and leans her elbows on the tall table behind her, eyes scanning the crowd. “That one?” She points to a blonde woman who is very close to one of the detectives from a different team, her hand on his arm as she laughs. His spiky hair sticks up tall and messy and he smiles at her reaction, hands shoved into the pockets of his striped suit as he leans against the wall.
“No, the other blonde — the one at the snack table,” Jack says.
“Really?”
“Well you don’t have to sound shocked,” Yaz snaps, with absolutely no bite behind the words.
Bill turns back around and raises an eyebrow in Yaz’s direction. “I’m more shocked you’ve got a girlfriend at all. Thought you didn’t leave your flat.”
“I’m sure she takes the trash out sometimes. Could’ve met her like that,” Jack offers.
“Or at the store,” Bill pipes in.
“I want a new team,” Yaz states.
“I think she’s the top,” Bill says to Jack, referring back to his previous comment. “Short and blonde, looks like she could get angry. I bet she’s a total top.”
“Really?” Jack glaces over Bill’s shoulder then back. “I dunno, I feel it could go either way.”
“Are we really going to talk about my sex life in the middle of a party?” Yaz cuts in before taking a long swig of champagne. She’s gonna need it around these two.
“I’m just sayin, she’s the top,” Bill says.
“Who’s the top?” James asks, suddenly appearing between Yaz and Jack and setting down a small plate piled high with pretzels and mini cupcakes and those little sandwiches she’d been asking about. She looks to her left at Yaz with a raised eyebrow and takes a bite of her sandwich.
Bill looks positively delighted , sticking her hand out. “Bill Potts. You must be the mysterious girlfriend.”
“Dunno if mysterious is the word I’d use,” James says through a mouthful of food, taking her hand and giving a firm shake. “James, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Absolutely.” Bill’s eyes the necklace resting on her t-shirt almost immediately, then hones in on Yaz’s matching one. It’s so quick James doesn’t even notice but Yaz sees the slight raise of Bill’s brow. “Nice necklaces. Never seen you wear that, Yaz.”
Yaz takes another drink of champagne — her glass is getting low already, god. “Usually keep it under my shirt.”
“Right. They look pretty new.”
“Bill,” Yaz warns, feeling her stomach twist at how close Bill is to calling their bluff.
A hand snakes around her waist and pulls her close to James’ side. Her hand is cold through Yaz’s shirt but her side is warm and Yaz fits quite nicely, slotted in next to her. James rubs the material over her hip with her thumb absentmindedly as she chews on a sandwich and talks to Jack.
Bill studies them for a few seconds before taking another sip of champagne. “So James, how long have you two been together?”
James stops talking to Jack and looks at Bill, then Yaz. “About four months, I think. We went slow for a while, kept it quiet just so we’d have time to get to know each other.”
“Four months and you never told us about your girlfriend, Yaz?”
“Oh don’t give her that,” Jack says, not even knowing he’s coming to Yaz’s rescue. “To be fair, if I had a girlfriend I definitely wouldn’t bring her around this crowd.”
Bill hums and takes another sip, eyeing James. “Where’d you meet?”
“My bar,” James says easily, convincingly. “I were workin’, she came in on her own. Got to talkin’. Love at first sight, you could say.”
“You went out for drinks without us?” Bill asks Yaz.
“It were one drink, I wasn’t even there that long,” Yaz defends (and okay, her lies sound kind of convincing too, which is good).
Jack raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Right, so it was that kind of love at first sight.”
“I really will report you to HR,” Yaz threatens, finishing off her glass.
“I’m just curious, can’t fault me for that.”
James looks over at her, brows knitted together with a slight crease formed between them. “So am I the top?”
And yeah, Yaz could blame the champagne or the anxiety from the party or the way Bill leans forward a bit, ready for the answer, or how Jack looks absolutely delighted as he looks between them. Either way, she says, “Not a chance.”
James’ cheeks flush and she takes a long drink from the glass in front of her. Jack cheers triumphantly.
Bill slaps the table and leans back, taking a long drink. “Bloody hell, I really thought I were right.”
There’s apparently party games. And James is sort of competitive — which is absolutely not a bad thing because they win two out of three games and each time James pulls her in for a hug close to her body, kissing her cheek with chapped lips and grabbing her hand excitedly, a big grin spread on her face. They each get a chocolate bar for the second prize in the last game and James munches on her own happily, still chuffed with herself about winning the first and second games.
Yaz ends up leaning against the wall, James pressed against her side with her hand in the back pocket of Yaz’s jeans as she sips at the same glass of champagne she’s been drinking all night.
“Not much of a drinker?” Yaz asks, tearing her eyes away from Jack tying to stack gift boxes on top of each other on the table. One falls and he has to start over. His team groans from the sidelines.
“Not champagne. Love a good whisky. Fits, I s’pose.”
“Fits?”
“My full name is Jameson.”
Yaz pulls away a bit to look at her. “Are you serious?” she asks.
James nods. “Yeah, what did you think it was short for?”
“James? I didn’t think it was short for anything.”
“Oh, nah. Well, it probably would’ve been changed had I gotten adopted early enough but by the time me mum took me home I were old enough to know my name so it just stuck. She...isn’t fond of it.”
Yaz chuckles. “Your mum isn’t fond of you being named after whisky?”
James shrugs and frowns suddenly. “She’s not fond of a lot.”
Yaz feels her stomach clench — she truly doesn’t know a lot about this woman other than surface details (and suddenly she realizes everything she does know is a bit vague, the details fuzzy or not there altogether).
“Do you know your birth parents?” she asks, then wants to slap herself. God, why the fuck would she even ask that? “You don’t have to answer that — I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked —”
“I don’t. Neither does she. Records got lost or somethin’, I dunno,” James says with another shrug.
“I’m sorry,” Yaz says, because that’s all she can think of saying. She still wants to hit herself for even asking that — like her mouth is working on its own accord and not consulting her brain first.
“It’s alright.” James gives her a small smile when she looks over. They’re close, faces only inches apart as they lean together comfortably (a bit too comfortably, if Yaz were in the headspace to examine that ). “You like your family?” she asks, voice suddenly quieter.
Yaz chuckles a bit. “Yeah, I guess. I love them, they drive me absolutely mad, though. But that’s family, I guess.”
“If you two are gonna snog you’ve gotta leave the party,” Bill says, suddenly in front of them. Yaz jumps back in shock, jostling James’ hand out of her pocket in the process.
“God, Bill, one day you’re gonna give me a heart attack,” Yaz says, putting her hand over the hard beat of her heart.
“Won’t be too bad. Maybe they’ll hook you up to those machines, you’ll be like a robot,” Bill says, grinning at Yaz. “Sunder says he wants to meet her.” She hooks her thumb in James’ direction. “Says it’s urgent, with the utmost importance. And ASAP.”
Of course he wants to meet her — he’s been as much of a mentor in her career as Jack has (if not more). He’d demanded to “check out” the last girl she’d dated, she really should’ve expected this.
“I’m sorry,” she says to James. “My boss wants to meet you. We have to.”
“Lead the way, babe,” James says, tangling their hands together.
“God, you two make me truly sick. I think I might vom.”
“That might be all the champagne you’ve had, mate,” Yaz says over her shoulder as she pulls James through the crowd of people and towards her superior at a table on the other end of the venue.
It’s not bad — it actually goes really well, all things considered. Sunder isn’t a mean guy, though his personality might make it seem like it (she’d been told off far too many times as a probationary officer for asking to do harder work). He’s easy to work with and really took a liking to Yaz as a probationary officer after she’d told him she wanted something to challenge her and he’d given her an assignment that she’d absolutely aced.
He asks questions, but not in the suspicious way Bill had. They’re genuine and James answers them with ease, holding onto Yaz’s hand the entire time. She smiles and laughs at the right times and even makes up a story about when they’d met, how she’d fallen head over heels in love and asked her out that very night.
Sunder seems impressed by the time he’s pulled away by another officer and when he finally turns and leaves, James slouches like a balloon deflating. She lets out a deep breath. “That were stressful,” she says, taking a longer sip of champagne.
“You did great, thank you. I think he really likes you actually.”
“Really?” James looks over at her and her eyes are shining under the overhead lights, looking sort of excited at the prospect of Yaz’s boss liking her (though that would be absolutely idiotic since they’re literally fake dating and these people won’t matter to her in a few hours).
“Yeah. Jack definitely likes you, Bill does too. They’re nosy and terrible but they’re good people, mostly.”
James looks chuffed with herself. “I’m glad. I don’t make loads of good first impressions. A bit socially awkward.”
“Can’t even tell.”
“Where do you work, James?”
James swallows the mini cupcake she’d just shoved into her mouth. “Have me own bar.”
Jack raises his brows. “A bar owner? That’s impressive. Where is it? I’ll have to come check it out. Your work hours really stop Yaz from being able to come to Friday night drinks with the team.”
“Jack, no one wants you to show up at their workplace,” Yaz says.
“Excuse you, I am a delight at bars,” Jack defends.
“Last time I went out for drinks with you all, you almost got the piss kicked out of you.”
“I talked him down, didn’t I?”
Yaz scoffs. “Barely.”
“Barely still counts!” he defends.
“One day you’re really gonna get it and I’m not gonna do a thing to stop them.”
“You were about ready to fight him as I was, if I remember correctly.”
James latches onto that and turns to Yaz with raised brows, a smile teasing the edges of her mouth. “Really?”
Yaz feels her cheeks flush. “I were...really drunk,” she tries to defend.
“Oh, yeah. You should see angry Yaz, she’s feisty. Was ready to start throwin’ fists at a man twice her size and three times her weight.” Jack laughs. “She says she saved my ass but really I was the one that dragged her out of the bar that night.”
“I don’t remember it happening like that,” Yaz mumbles.
“Don’t think I’ve seen drunk, angry Yaz yet,” James says. “I’m gonna have to experience that, I think.”
If it were possible, her cheeks flush even harder. “You are not gonna experience anything here.”
“Oh, you’re no fun, Yaz,” Jack says, then turns the conversation back to James. “So, a bar. Been in the business long?”
“A few years,” James answers easily (probably the truth — there’s not really any reason to lie about that).
“Impressive. How’d you start that?”
Yaz feels the shift in the energy as soon as Jack asks the question. James’ face falls slightly and she looks away for a split second. “Oh, uh, bought it with my previous partner. She’s...gone now. And left it to me, I guess.”
“Previous partner?” Jack asks, looking interested.
“Jack,” Yaz warns, clearly sensing James’ sudden discomfort with the subject.
“Yeah, it were a while ago,” James says vaguely. Her hand has gone stiff in Yaz’s and she bites the edge of her lip.
“What happened to her?”
“Jack,” Yaz snaps, glaring at him. Jack raises his hands defensively.
“I’m just curious.”
“You can ignore him if you’d like,” Yaz says to James.
James looks visibly uncomfortable as she drops Yaz’s hand and pulls at the neck of her jumper like it’s too tight. “She’s gone, not really important the circumstances.” She hands her glass of half drank champagne to Yaz and nods to the front doors. “I’m just gonna get some air, yeah? I’ll be back in a bit.” And with that she turns on her heel and swiftly weaves her way through the thick crowd and out the front doors, into the cold night air.
“Thanks for that, mate,” Yaz deadpans.
Jack, for his part, looks apologetic. “I didn’t mean to push, Yaz. I thought —”
“It’s fine, just —” She hands him the two glasses and looks back to where James had disappeared. “I’ll be back.”
James is leaning against the wall next to the front doors, arms crossed over her chest and one foot braced on the wall behind her. Her breath fogs in front of her in the cold December air and her jumper sleeves are pulled down over her hands in an obvious attempt to conserve warmth.
Yaz walks up and silently holds out her leather jacket she’d picked up from the coat rack inside. James takes it with a grateful smile and slips it on before leaning back against the wall.
“Sorry about him, he can pry a bit too much,” Yaz says, leaning against the wall next to her and shoving her hands in her pockets. The brick is cold against her back and seeps through the layer of her coat quickly.
“It’s fine — I should’ve been prepared for it. It just...still comes as a shock.”
Yaz doesn’t respond — she doesn’t even have a response. Was she married? Engaged? Did the spouse leave or die? Does it even matter which in the long run?
“She died, about two years ago,” James says after a moment of silence. She looks out to the street and frowns.
“You don’t have to tell me —”
“I know, I just —” James bites her bottom lip between white teeth as she turns to study Yaz’s face, hazel eyes flicking over her features like she’s reading Yaz like an open book. “I weren’t there — she had a habit of going off on her own for days at a time with no notice, so I didn’t even think anything was wrong until she didn’t come back. By the time I got to the hospital she were too far gone.”
“I’m sorry,” Yaz says, because that’s the only thing she really can say — the only thing that feels right. She thinks about reaching out, so James knows she’s there, but she digs her nails into her palm instead.
“‘S alright, it’s been a while,” James says with a shrug and pained smile, looking back out to the street.
“How do you cope with that?”
She’s quiet for a long moment, the cold air fogging in front of her as she takes deep breaths. “I carry her with me,” she finally says, quietly but with a certain hardness to her voice — but, no, it’s not really a hardness. It’s more of...acceptance. Strength, to a certain extent. “What she would’ve thought and said and done. I made her a part of who I am, so even though she’s gone from the world, she’s never gone from me.” James nudges Yaz with her shoulder and raises her brows. “Do y’wanna keep talkin’ about my dead wife all night or do you wanna go back inside?”
Yaz rolls her eyes at the crass joke. “I didn’t want to talk about your dead wife to begin with,” she points out.
“Yeah, but you did. Think she’d like you — especially after hearing about the drunk, angry Yaz story.”
Yaz feels...she doesn’t know how she feels about that. Physically she feels cold as fuck, her toes and fingers had gone numb minutes ago. She tries not to feel the twist of her stomach, and definitely does not examine it any further to see if it’s a good or bad feeling.
“I wasn’t that drunk, truly,” Yaz defends, pushing off the wall and holding the door open for James. “He’s definitely exaggerating.”
“I’d pay real money to see you drunk, Yasmin Khan.”
“You’ll be keeping’ that money, then, cause that’ll never happen,” Yaz quips, following James back into the building.
Jack does apologize. And he does it while pulling James close to his chest and talking into her hair, and James, for her part, doesn’t push him away as fast as Yaz would’ve. Bill gives them a suggestive raise of her brows when James says they’re going back to her place for the night (they’re definitely not) and says, “Have fun with that.”
They’re still wearing their jackets from the short venture outside earlier and James grabs the scarf from the rack, looping it around her neck when they exit the building. The street is quiet and dark, the only light from the orange glow of the streetlamps lining the pavement. Yaz shoves her hands into her pockets to try and keep them at least a bit warm and turns to James.
“Thank you, for doin’ this. Really,” Yaz says a bit awkwardly. What are they supposed to do now? It’s not like...a paid job, and giving her a hug feels a bit intimate (even though they’ve literally been holding hands or touching the entire night). James flicks blonde hair from her face and gives Yaz a bright grin.
“No problem, Yaz. I love those little cupcakes, were completely worth it.”
“Do you need a ride home? I’ve got my car with me,” Yaz says, trying to keep the question nonchalant.
James shakes her head and makes a face. “Oh, nah. My flat’s just a bit that way, not too long of a walk.”
“James, c’mon, it’s freezing. The least I can do is give you a ride when you pretended to be my girlfriend all night. I know my coworkers aren’t the...easiest to deal with.” Yaz fishes in her pocket and pulls out her car keys. “My car’s just right there, I can drop you off.”
James looks behind her at the way she’d pointed, then back at Yaz, biting her lip for a second. The crisp December wind blows hard for a few seconds and James nods. “Alright. It’s not far, I swear.”
“It’s fine, I really don’t mind, honestly,” Yaz says, already walking towards the car park.
It really isn’t that far, and a few minutes later Yaz puts the car in park in front of a small building, bright light spilling from the small windows downstairs.
“You live in your bar?”
A neon sign hangs above the front door, advertising itself as The Tardis. The bright blue front door sticks out like a sore thumb on the street lined with more neutral buildings. A few people enter and Yaz catches a glimpse of amber yellow light inside.
“Above, actually. Looks small but it’s bigger on the inside, I swear.”
Yaz chuckles. “Right, I’m sure.”
James taps her fingers on her thigh for a second before pulling the handle on the door, turning to Yaz just as the interior lights of the car turn on.
“Thanks for the ride, Yaz. And the party. And the food. I had a nice time.”
“You know you don’t have to lie.”
James bites her bottom lip and smiles. “Guess this is goodbye then,” she says, opening the door further and sliding off the seat into the cold night air. “Come round me bar sometime, I’ll buy you a drink.”
Yaz raises a brow. “You offer all your customers free drinks?”
“Not all my customers are my fake girlfriend, are they?” James says with a smirk before stepping back and closing the door.
Yaz idles in the street until James opens the blue door and turns around to wave at the car before slipping into the dark interior of the bar.
“Did you kiss?” Ryan throws the basketball at the hoop (and misses). It soars past and bounces into the dead grass next to the court.
Yaz shoves her hands between her thighs. “Did we really have to meet here? Couldn’t we have met at your house? Or somewhere with heat?”
“Oh, c’mon Yaz. It’s not that cold out,” Ryan yells over his shoulder as he picks up the ball. “Tell me about the date.”
Yaz rolls her eyes and bounces her leg, trying to conserve some body heat (though the metal bench she’s sat on at the side of the court is not helping in the slightest). “There’s nothing to tell — it’s like, not even classified as a date. It were all fake anyways.”
“If it were fake then why do you look like someone’s just run over your dog?”
“I don’t —” Ryan gives her a look. Yaz frowns. “It’s not important. It were fake — she helped me out, and now we won’t ever have to see each other again.”
Ryan throws the ball at the hoop again. It hits the backboard with a clang and goes bouncing down the court. “You could, if you wanted. You said she owns a bar?”
“I’m not goin’ to her bar, Ryan.”
Ryan picks up the ball and turns to her but Yaz interrupts whatever he was going to say (she knows him far too well). “No, you’re not allowed to go there either.”
“How did you know I was gonna ask that? I could’ve been askin’ something entirely different,” Ryan defends.
“Were you?” Yaz challenges.
He shakes his head and laughs, throwing the ball at the hoop again. “Nah, was totally gonna ask.”
She really needs new friends.