Chapter Text
Vanessa had no clue how it had all happened if she was honest, no idea how she was kneeling on stage on camera, anxiety hammering in her chest like a freight train. Kneeling in front of Dennis, who looks completely baffled at the turn of events.
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It had started at the pub, squished together in a booth for Max’s birthday. They’d crammed the 9 of them around the table and she was pressed between Dennis and the suspiciously sticky wall. He was trying to give her space, twisting his leg away from hers, but Robert was pinning him against her. So Vanessa had just kept saying yes to drinks, desperately trying to escape the reality of her situation. She’d never been a fan of tight spaces, least of all overly warm ones. By her third she was decidedly giggly, snickering across from Annie and Sandra about things men don’t notice. Dennis kept awkwardly laughing when she did, looking completely baffled at the whole conversation. Sandra kept side-eyeing him every time he did it, and it was starting to irritate Vanessa. Everyone there knew Dennis wasn’t the brightest when it came to social cues, but he meant well. She could also hear the argument unfolding on Dennis’s other side between Chris and Robert, so could guess why he’d chosen them to join in with instead. Vanessa shifted slightly, pulling her gin and lemonade towards herself, knowing Dennis could easily knock it over. “What do you think Dennis?”
“Urm –“ he stutters, flushing red. Annie and Sandra look at each other. “How much space they take up?” He questions, looking at Vanessa questioningly. She’s always been his go-to person after Chris, to guide him. His gaze is oddly intense and Vanessa’s fingers curl around the stem of her gin glass.
“Oh my god, yes!” Annie agrees, vanquishing the unexpected tension between them. Dennis is drawn into the conversation and the tension keeping his legs from touching hers slowly releases. Maybe it’s the fact it’s her fourth gin and tonic, but it doesn’t feel so claustrophobic all of a sudden. Dennis has relaxed into the back of the booth, throwing in the occasional heckle at the boy’s debate over who’s football team is worse. Annie has gone to head home to her cats and Trevor and Chris have suddenly ducked their heads together, grabbing coats and scarves. Sandra curls against Max’s arm, being drunk is one of the few times she isn’t high energy. Vanessa sighs gently, tilting her head back over the booth, stretching her neck. It always aches, although she guesses it’s partly to do with her job. A finger gently strokes the edge of her knee and she almost jumps out of her skin.
“You alright ‘Nessa?” Dennis whispers, at a volume that is impressively quiet.
“Yes,” she grins at him, the soft look in his eyes making her already warm cheeks feel like they’re burning. “Sorry, just stretching.”
“Do you need to go home?” He asks, voice returning to normal. She shakes her head.
“I’m happy here.” She smiles at him. His hands return to the table and she stares at them, bony and sharp yet so gentle against her knee just then.
The night is icy and dark, and Vanessa finds herself shivering despite her massive scarf and coat. Max and Sandra are wrapped up in each other, Trevor and Chris have long since disappeared, Jonathan’s wife has just pulled up to take him home, and it’s just her, Dennis and Robert.
“See you guys.” She smiles, teeth chattering as she turns to go. Dennis unsteadily grabs onto her arm.
“You can’t walk home alone!” He states, overly serious.
“It’s fine Dennis, I live 10 minutes away.” She says, turning back around.
“You can’t.”
“It’s alright Dennis.”
“We’ll walk you home.” Dennis juts out his lip slightly. Robert groans.
“Dennis I want to go home.”
“We can’t let her go alone, she’s a woman.”
“You walk her then, lovely seeing you Vanessa.” Robert nods, before strutting away. Dennis gulps slightly.
Even whilst quite drunk, Vanessa is aware that realistically she’s still got a better chance without Dennis’s help, but it’s lovely that he thought to walk her. The conversation is stilted, unsure. It’s very rarely just the two of them unless they’re discussing productions, and they’ve long since run out of things to say about that. It’s oddly comforting though, the measured breaks after each of her questions, like Dennis is really trying to focus on what he’s saying. Part of her bitterly wishes he’d do the same when they’re on stage, but she stamps that thought out. Snow starts to fall from the sky and Vanessa is increasingly aware of how much she’d exaggerated when she said she lived 10 minutes away. It was really 15 at best, probably 20 at the pace they were going. Dennis, in his inherently Dennis style, sticks out his tongue to catch a snowflake. It is flurrying around them with such intensity you’d expect him to catch at least one, but he doesn’t catch a single one. Dennis doesn’t seem to mind, stumbling closer to her in reach of a snowflake.
“Give it a go Vanessa.” He laughs, tilting his head side to side. Sober, she’d never, far too odd looking. But she isn’t sober, and she doesn’t care. So she joins in, sticking her tongue out into the icy air and trying to catch a snowflake. It starts to swirl faster but still it doesn’t seem like she’s going to catch any. She slams into Dennis as she tries to catch one that spirals beyond her reach. He surprisingly manages to catch her arms so they both don’t slip in the snow. His hands are cold even through her thick coat. He releases her almost immediately, and she’s sure his cheeks would burn red if they weren’t already from the cold. She clasps his hands in her gloves.
“You’re freezing.”
“Er, yes?” He stammers, not pulling his hands out. She steps on with their journey to her house as the snow flurries increase violently around them, his hands clutched in hers. Admittedly, it isn’t very efficient, especially not whilst drunk. The pair find themselves weaving and sliding on the slick icy path. Their sides press together in a desperate attempt to find stability, hip bone to hip bone. She giggles each time they slip, vibrating through her into him. It’s nice, out in the snow with just Dennis. She feels safe, her usually anxious soul is seemingly eased by his presence. Although she knows it’s just the alcohol, his hands in hers seem to be helpful all the same.
The snow picks up, biting into a blizzard as they arrive onto her street. Although her house isn’t even halfway down it, she can’t see it through the swirling snow. It stings her cheeks and bites at her ears.
She lets Dennis’s hands go as she unlocks the front door and misses their warmth.
He remains stood on the doorstop. “Come inside.” she says gently, already feeling the heat and shelter.
“I should head back.” He says, shuffling his feet in the shiny snow.
“Dennis there’s a blizzard.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“You live like a 40 minute walk from here. There’s a blizzard. Just come inside.”
“Robert will worry.” Vanessa almost snorts, but catches it. Robert is a lot of things and many of them are good, but caring for other’s is not one of them.
“You can text him. Just stay Dennis, it’s safer.” She says softly, staring at the man in a howling snowstorm on her doorstep. He takes a small step over the threshold, then another. She leans around him and shuts the door. There is a small layer of snow on her doormat.
She passes him a glass of water and sits down on the sofa. He remains stood above her, seeming slightly uncomfortable. Vanessa pats the sofa beside her and he sits down wordlessly. They sip their waters in a comfortable quiet. She is very grateful Dennis isn’t the kind for unnecessary small talk, sometimes peace and quiet are the best thing.
He’s set up on the sofa, a pile of blankets and several pillows. She also passes him an old jumper and a pair of trackie bottoms. For once she is grateful to be so tall, as her clothes should fit the shorter, twiggy man absolutely fine. “Cheers Nesssa, I owe you one.” he says quietly. She smiles at him.
“It’s fine Dennis, it’s what friends are for.” Arms slam around her midsection and she is squeezed into a hug before her brain can react. Cautiously she wraps her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. It is comfortable and safe, she can’t remember feeling so secure when there was someone touching her. His grip is firm but not tight, she is held rather than being constricted. His breathing matches hers, chests rising and falling together. She doesn’t know how long they hug for, but she aches from his absence as soon as she lets go.
“Night Dennis.”
“Night Nessa.”
Seeing Dennis standing over the oven in her kitchen does several things to Vanessa, and the risk of her home burning down is only the third. The first, the one that makes her cheeks burn in shame, is how cute he looks in her old clothes. They fit almost perfectly and the jumper is tucked into the bottoms. It gives him a very domesticated, soft look. It’s a slight departure from his usual teenage style, but still suits him. The second is adoration. He’s attempting to cook them breakfast, she can tell that much from his attempts to fry an egg.
“Morning.” She says, smile creeping into her voice far more than she’d like it to as she wanders over. She stops just behind him to look over his shoulder.
“Morning Vanessa.” It almost stings for him to revert to her proper name and she can’t quite work out why. “I’m making breakfast. To say thank you.” he says, focused on the pan in front of him. The eggs are shining up at them, starting to solidify. She hums in agreement, sliding past him to get plates out and cutlery.
It’s only slightly burnt and her smoke alarm didn’t go off. It all tastes good, and she tells him as such. They hug once more, the same intensity as before, arms enveloping the other like there’s no one left, as he goes to leave. That settled, secure feeling soothes through her chest, and this time it can’t be blamed away on the alcohol. She presses a pair of gloves into his hands as he leaves.
Things at Cornley are slightly different after that evening and in the final two weeks before The Nativity she oddly finds herself less annoyed and more protective of Dennis’s messed up lines. That doesn’t mean that after the fourth or fifth mess up she doesn’t want to gouge out her eyes. It just makes it more bearable. He always hovers near her, with Chris far too stressed to be remotely supportive of the easily distressed and confused castmate. She tries to talk him through every scene they’re in before they go on. It works sometimes, or at least in terms of only making more minor cock ups. She finds herself noticing him in ways she didn’t before. He’s got really bony hands for example. Or how his thighs are unexpectedly muscular as they practise their quick changes. His hair changes colour in different lighting. Sometimes, in the murk of backstage it’s as black as the night sky, then on stage these brown hints come out. He’s got different smiles too, almost all toothy and broad, that big childish smile most people either force or have forced out of them. Plus a toothless smile, the uptick of just one edge of his lips every time she walks into the room or when she finds her gaze met. Or when she feels a gaze on her, and turns to meet his warm brown eyes.