Work Text:
OA opens the motel room door, every one of his senses on high alert as he notes with displeasure the slightly loose handle and the lack of a deadbolt, nose wrinkling slightly at the musty odor of the room, brushing at it with the knuckle of his pointer finger as he takes in the smell of cigarette smoke which seems to have permeated the very fabric of the room, and as his eyes adjust to the darkness, he can feel them widen in disbelief. He doesn’t say a word, just turns on his heel, and sets off for the office.
He stalks past Tiff, who is, despite the pouring rain, unloading the last of the bags from the SVU, and sees the concern on her face from the corner of his eye as she calls after him; “Omar? Everything okay?”
He doesn’t respond, mostly because he’s already ducking into the office where the sleazy old guy smoking a cigarette behind the desk had handed him the room key moments prior. It doesn’t look like he’s moved at all since, he’s still leaning against the counter reading a newspaper, and he takes a drag of his smoke before finally choosing to acknowledge OA’s presence.
“Everything okay?”
His tone makes it clear he could care less, so OA takes a moment to draw in a breath, steadying himself, before voicing his concerns.
“I asked for a room with double occupancy when I checked in.”
“Ya did.”
“So, with all due respect, why did I just unlock the door to find a room with one queen bed and nothing else.”
The man, Jim, his slightly faded name tag reads, takes another drag of his cigarette before responding.
“You didn’t say nothing ‘bout two beds. Ya asked for double occupancy, I gave ya a room that sleeps two.”
The most aggravating suspects he’s ever dealt with have annoyed OA less than this guy is right now.
“Look, sir, I understand that the room may technically sleep two. But I am not here for some sort of off the highway hookup. I am here with my colleague, on our way to go interview someone in prison who spent years on the FBI'S Most Wanted List. We have been driving for hours, it is pouring rain, and we are almost out of gas.”
“What’s all this gotta do with me, agent?”
The expression is usually figurative, but OA finds himself actually biting his tongue before he speaks next.
“Look…is there any chance you have another room available?”
Jim isn’t even looking at him anymore, he’s back smoking, eyes on his paper.
“I sure don’t.”
“A cot? Anything?”
“Nope. Look, if you’re that unhappy, y'all can leave. But I’m keepin’ the money for the room.”
He’s not sure if the throbbing in his head is from stress, or the ever present cigarette smoke, but at this point it really doesn’t matter, because they’ve been on the road for nine hours, he knows Tiff is just as exhausted as he is, the weather is shit, Isobel certainly isn’t going to be happy if he bills the bureau for two motels…
Jim doesn’t bother saying anything as the bell above the door chimes, signaling OA’s departure.
---
Tiff has made her way inside the room, and despite this whole mess he’s glad she's out of the elements. She’s seemingly made herself comfortable, because her boots are lined up by the door as he enters, coat hanging up to dry, and she looks over from her stance beside the bed, where she’s unpacking her duffle.
“Hey, you good? What was all that about?”
“I uh, was a little surprised when I walked in.”
He’s motioning to the bed, and Tiff follows his gaze, then nods in understanding.
“Oh, yeah, that caught me a bit off guard too. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers.”
She’s rolling with this shockingly well, but he figures it’s because she knows what he’ll say next.
“They uh, don’t have any cots available, so don’t worry, I’ll take the floor.”
“You’ll what?”
Tiff sounds genuinely confused, which is in turn confusing him, and maybe it’s the ever present headache, the distant itch in his sinuses from the smoke, or the sheer exhaustion, he’s not sure.
“I’ll take the floor. So you can have the bed.”
He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s certainly not for Tiff to put down the pair of jeans she had been holding, cross her arms tightly across her chest, and say; “Omar, how old are you?”
Unsure why she’s asking, the answer still spills from his lips instinctively, the way it always seems to when Tiffany is the one asking the question.
“Thirty six.”
“Mhm. Thirty six. You know I’m a grownup too, yeah?”
OA has absolutely no idea where Tiff is going with this, and she must read the utter confusion on his face, because she unfolds her arms, face relaxing into that soft smile of hers he loves so much.
“We’re both adults, OA, and on top of that, we’re friends. You’re not sleeping on the damn floor.”
They are both adults, and they are friends, and that is precisely why he extended that offer in the first place.
Because Tiffany is someone he cares for, tremendously.
He’s been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that if it weren’t for Tiff chuckling lightly as she passed by him, gently patting his upper arm as she did, he may not have noticed her at all.
“I’m gonna go shower, change, do my hair, and then crawl into bed, because it’s late, and it’s been a long day. You planning on joining me, or just standing there on the carpet dripping wet all night?”
“I, uh…”
She doesn’t wait for a response, just closes the bathroom door behind her, leaving OA grinning, shaking his head at the floor, somehow not at all surprised about the fact that Tiffany Wallace can turn his world on its head, all while acting like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
—-
He takes advantage of her shower to change his own clothes, opting for a worn but soft rangers T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, more than he’d usually wear to bed, but somehow still less than feels appropriate when laying side by side with a colleague, and despite the strange feeling that has taken up residence in the pit of his stomach since he first opened the door, takes a seat on the bed, leans against the headboard, and does his best to settle in.
Tiff isn’t long, not that he was expecting her to be. More than anything she likely wanted a chance to relax her muscles after the drive, and soak in some warmth after the cold rain had left them both feeling chilled. He gets it.
She takes less than 15 minutes, and as the bathroom door cracks open, OA glances over instinctively, doing his best not to react to the fact that Tiffany Wallace is standing in front of him in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and olive green pajama pants.
“Hey, good shower?”
“Mhm…”
She’s got a small bag under her arm, takes a seat at the desk in front of the mirror, then looks over at OA, head slightly tilted to the side.
“You used to braid your sister's hair?”
He’s surprised she’s remembered, because he’s fairly certain it was something he’d mentioned off hand a few months ago, but he can’t help the smile that ghosts his face.
“I did. For a while after my dad died, mama worked nights. So I took over bedtime, and part of that was braids. Sabah and Nour could do it themselves, but…I think they found comfort in me doing it.”
She’s got her legs crossed under her, one knee pulled to her chest, chin resting atop, taking in everything he’s saying, and OA feels the heat rise to his cheeks.
“Sorry. You didn’t need the background.”
“No, no I like it.”
They lapse into silence for a moment, but it’s comfortable, not awkward, Tiff still watching him, and it’s her who breaks it, tilting her head once more, crinkling her nose.
“Do, uh, do you mind?”
She’s holding out the bag to him, so OA gets up from the bed and takes it, not sure what he’s expecting to see, but a bottle of scalp oil, a comb, and elastics wouldn’t have made his top ten guesses.
Still, Tiff is holding it out to him with a degree of expectancy, so OA takes it, his voice catching in his throat.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I’m exhausted, my heads been pounding since we got here…and I’m comfortable with you.”
She’s not leaving much room for argument, so OA just nods, puts the bag on the desk beside her, pulls out the small bottle of scalp moisturizer, puts a little in his hands, rubs them together, and gently brings his fingers to her skull.
For a while, neither of them says a word. His touch is gentle, but gradually less hesitant as he grows more sure of himself, and he swears he can feel Tiff relax as he works.
It’s quiet, intimate beyond belief, but somehow remarkably natural.
“You smell nice.”
He’s not sure where the words come from, but they’ve escaped his lips before he can stop them. She does smell nice too. Like vanilla and brown sugar. Like warmth and comfort.
“My lotion.”
“Hmm.”
Silence takes back over now, and neither of them say another word until he’s finished with the oil.
“Uh, how do you want me to braid?”
“Four sections, nice and loose. Just enough that there’s less detangling come morning.”
It’s been a long time since this part of his sister's bedtime routine, yet the muscle memory is still intact, because OA finds his groove quickly, fingers moving nimbly as if he’s done this a million times before.
“…done.”
Tiff opens the eyes he hadn’t been aware she had closed, and smiles seeing her reflection.
“You did good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s been a long time since someone did that for me.”
She’s grabbing a bonnet now, and OA can’t help but watch her with a smile.
“You match.”
“Huh?”
“Your bonnet. It’s the same colour as your pants.”
A slightly sheepish grin.
“I didn’t even notice.”
“It suits you, that colour.”
There’s an amused breath of air that escapes Tiff at that.
“Are you ready for bed, Omar?”
Bone weary exhaustion, throbbing head, ever present prickling in his sinuses, the answer should be yes without a second thought. Yet there’s something inside him that knows he’d sacrifice every moment of sleep, just to keep talking. He doesn’t say that though, instead, he slides Tiff’s chair out from the desk, and nods.
“Let’s get some rest.”
—-
A queen bed is tiny, he realizes with alarm as he slides under the covers. Sure, he may have managed to fit his 6’5 frame into a twin during his army days, but he was a decade younger at the time. He enjoys his king, a queen feels cramped, and that’s before adding another person.
Still, they are adding another person, and sure enough Tiff slides in beside him, her body mere inches from his own.
“Night, OA.”
With that, she flicks off the light, and as the room plunges into darkness, the bare skin of her arm brushes his as she lays back down.
That’s all it takes.
She doesn’t move away, either. She allows their arms to stay touching, and suddenly all the emotions, the thoughts, the feelings, that have been lying fallow deep within him are careening to the surface.
The same butterflies he felt the first time he kissed a girl.
The giddiness that’s on par with saying I love you.
The fiery sensation in his gut, the tingling in his limbs.
The feeling of comfort, of home that still accompanies walking through his mama's front door.
His heart is racing, breath catching in his throat, head absolutely spinning.
Then, Tiff turns his world on its head once more.
She doesn’t even have to say a word to do it either.
Instead, a cool soft hand reaches out and finds his, interlocking their fingers.
Instead, she rolls over onto her side, and all while keeping their hands linked, places her head on his chest.
“ Goodnight , Omar.”
He can’t quite find his voice, he’s still trying to reconcile what just happened, so he offers her hand a gentle squeeze, and closes his eyes.