Chapter Text
“Wait.” A hand shot out, effectively blocking his forward progress. “You’re telling me you’ve never celebrated Christmas?”
With an annoyed exhale of air through his nose, Five gently pushed her arm away, continuing toward the side of the bodega he’d agreed to search. “I didn’t say, ‘never;’ I said I haven’t in longer than I can remember.”
“Yeah, but you’re, like, what, a hundred? That’s basically never, Five, and you know it.”
He felt more than saw the glare she threw at him, already turned away and picking through the detritus on the floor, his shoulder bag twisted to rest behind him. Somewhere in here there had to be canned or packaged food they could scavenge, something to help quiet the growls of protest from his stomach or ease the pangs of hunger Lila tried to hide from showing on her face.
“And how do you not know? Didn’t you celebrate it as a kid?”
“What did Diego tell you about our childhood?”
“Honestly? Not as much as you’d think,” she said, the sounds of her boots walking over the dirty floor and her shifting something — part of a shelving unit, maybe — and that something crashing to the floor drifting across the store. “There’s a lot of talk of his glory days fighting bad guys.” Five swore he detected her eyes rolling from her tone. “Some about how he should have been Number One.” Five rolled his eyes at that. “How strict your dad was, and how he doesn’t want to be like him.” Five didn’t blame his brother there. Life under Sir Reginald Hargreeves hadn’t been a picnic by anyone’s definition. “Loads about how he doesn’t want to be like him. Think that’s why he’s adopted the role of fun parent.” Was that bitterness he detected under her casual tone? She’d told him a bit about what her life had been like as a mom and wife, how she’d felt like she was losing her identity some days. However, there was still a lot he didn’t know. Mostly from not asking. If she wanted to share, he’d let her do it in her own time. And if she didn’t, it was just one less bit of information he’d have to store somewhere in the numerous compartments of his brain.
“What were we talking about,” Lila asked, puncturing her question with another crash. Glancing over, Five caught dust settling around a broken display for sugary cereal, which he assumed was Lila’s doing.
“Christmas,” he supplied, turning back to his side of the store. The aisle he made his way down currently seemed mostly picked over of anything useful. Glossy papers — likely from magazines, he guessed — littered the floor along with candy bar wrappers, half a shelf that might have once held pet supplies if the picture of a too happy cartoon dog on an otherwise indistinguishable bag nearby was any indication, and something brown and possibly sticky of a suspicious origin. Five carefully stepped over that stain, not wanting to try his luck with figuring out what it was.
“Right! Christmas!” She sounded too chipper and eager to return to that topic, but he didn’t blame Lila for not wanting to dwell on Diego or her kids right then. Even if discussing a holiday centered around families felt counterintuitive to him.
“How come you don't celebrate Christmas? Are you a Scrooge? A Grinch? An Atheist? Even atheists celebrate gifts and eating too much turkey, Five.”
“Actually, I consider myself to be agnostic more than anything.” After all he’d seen and been through, something was going on. And given he had two brothers who’d been to the afterlife and ghosts existed… But that was a discussion for another day.
Nudging a piece of particle board with his foot, Five sighed. "It's hard to want to celebrate something that's been weaponized," he began, focusing a little too hard on toeing through debris. "When everything nice had a hidden meaning, a not so secret agenda." He couldn't help but think about his room, the toys in it, and how it compared to his siblings'. He'd had arguably the biggest room, but it was farthest away. Luther had more toys than Viktor, but sometimes those toys were ones Diego had wanted. Allison got whatever she wanted, and Five had always been torn on if she'd used her powers or simply been spoiled in a way the others weren't because of her powers.
"Birthdays were perfunctory when they weren't performative," he continued, crouching down to inspect the bottommost shelf. "Everything was merit based, designed to keep everyone in line. Gifts were conditional and often met with sentiments about being grateful we got anything at all because most holidays were a waste of time. In the end, they were just another day, with enough fanfare to remind us we were meant for bigger things." Like being living batteries for a giant reset machine that's only real purpose was to bring back a dead wife, he thought with more bitterness than he realized he had over that.
"That's depressing, Five."
"That's life with Dad," he countered, groaning as he straightened back up.
"At least with Mum – with The Handler–" Five noticed she did that sometimes when talking about the woman who'd effectively stolen and raised her, not dissimilar to how his own dad raised him. "--we had Christmas dinner and presents. It wasn't fancy dinner, and she usually got me practical stuff like socks. But at least she said 'Happy Christmas' and let me have cocoa."
"With marshmallows?"
"How else do you drink cocoa? God, I'd stab someone for a hot cocoa right now."
A soft snort. Five was pretty sure she'd stab someone just for fun, but he refrained from pointing that out. Instead, he looked around the store and sighed. "I think this place's been picked clean. We might have better luck if we try the apartment building at the end of the block."
"Yeah, all right," Lila said with some reluctance. She dropped an empty crate Five thought might have once held a delivery of milk before she meandered toward the front of the store. He followed, carefully avoiding the suspicious stain on the floor.
"Shit, it's cold!" Lila wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to pull her pink puffer jacket closer. Thankfully she'd ditched the cheap fabric boots weeks ago – had it been weeks? He was doing his best to keep track of time, but some of it was just guesswork – opting for a worn but practical pair that fit with extra socks.
"We'll look for more clothes in the apartments, kill two birds and all." He'd been trying to grab what he could, but some of it came down to what they could reasonably haul with them. A couple of sleeping bags swiped from a timeline that was mostly intact but had been a clear police state for quite awhile; spare underwear from a timeline that had suffered some kind of war; two water bottles swiped from a big box store in a timeline where, far less surprising than it should have been, Hargreeves had managed to get elected president; and whatever food they could manage to find wherever they could.
Lila nodded, tucking her hands under her arms. He couldn't help but think, for a brief second, she looked almost small curled up on herself, trying to keep warm. A frown crossed his face, brows furrowed. He didn't like thinking of her as small. And not just because they were basically the same height. However, he couldn't put his finger on why, in that moment, he didn't like it, so he shoved the thought away, burying under numerous other things he refused to think about. If it wouldn't help them survive, it wasn't important.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, careful to stay close to the buildings. Although he couldn't see anyone around, walking in the middle of the street, however empty, was an easy way to get shot. Or speared. Or jumped. And it didn't provide cover in case they got caught out. Not to mention, it did nothing to protect from the biting wind. At least walking along the edges of the road gave them a chance to duck for cover from the elements or worse. Five didn't want to know what worse might be, but his imagination still tried to supply possible answers to that question.
"What do you think happened in this timeline," a voice to his right asked, and he sighed. Leave it to Lila to force the questions he didn't want to think about out into the open. Sometimes he wondered if she couldn't read minds.
Five took a few moments to consider her question, going over what they'd seen. The buildings stood mostly intact, windows broken where doors hadn't been forced open. Abandoned cars with scattered blooms of rust littered the road to his left, but most looked like they'd been parked there. Only a few were in the road proper, stuck between coming and going to places now lacking any importance. And all of them looked to have at least one broken window. – someone no doubt looking for shelter or an escape, a scrap of food from an incomplete delivery. The gray clouds hanging low and promising snow only added to the abandoned feel of The City, his ears and eyes on alert for anything out of place in the devastation.
"Not sure," he began, keeping his voice low. "Too many buildings are standing for it to have been bombs." Or Viktor, he thought, deciding not to voice that. "But the cars all look abandoned, so I don't think it was some kind of EMP. Haven't seen any bodies yet–"
"Yet," she echoed, voice just as low. He noticed despite the cold, she was also on alert, eyes skimming over the buildings to their right, as if someone might jump out from a second floor window. Someone could, he realized, and he straightened his back a little more.
"No bodies makes me think whatever happened, it was either too quick to leave organic matter behind or slow moving enough that people got out if they could. Doesn't mean someone's not still around." He cast a glance across the street at a restaurant, the window smashed in, jagged spikes of glass sticking out around the frame. It reminded Five of the maw of some great beast, the darker interior promising nothing pleasant. Pulling his gaze away, he said, "Might have been some kind of disease."
"Makes sense," she said. "Why else leave the Christmas decorations up?" She gestured to the colored lights framing another broken first floor window of an apartment building. At least the walk hadn't been long. And he couldn't ignore that fact. No matter how recent it had happened, there were signs of holiday decorations everywhere, from the lights in the window to garland around a few of the telephone poles to half torn signs announcing last minute sales.
Shrugging in response, Five slowly took the steps leading up to the front entrance, peering down over the iron railing toward the basement level. He didn't like the shadows there, and his hand went into the pocket of his overcoat to grip the knife he’d pilfered in another reality, something compact but useful; sharp. His gun might have been more effective, but he didn't have bullets to waste. And if anyone was lying in wait, he suspected they'd rush him and not give him time to pull his firearm. The knife, and Lila at his back, would have to do. At least she had something a bit more offensive in nature now with those laser eyes, though he hoped they wouldn't need them.
At the top of the stairs, he shifted his gaze from the haze of the basement stairwell to Lila, his hand resting lightly on the doorknob. His brows raised in question, and she rolled her shoulders before she gave a single nod. At some point, they’d begun not just communicating with looks and gestures but understanding each other through them. He didn’t know when, if it had been going on longer than he realized, if the Commission had hammered that ability into them, or if it’d been weeks of just them that forced them into it. In that moment, it didn’t matter. But it was still a curiosity that surprised him whenever it happened.
With a single nod back, he tried the handle. It twisted easily, though the door stuck, warped by disuse and the elements. Nothing a little pressure from his shoulder and arm couldn’t handle, and it gave with a creak of wood, the bottom scraping along warped wood flooring. Five winced at the noise, pulling his knife from his pocket. He kept it close to his side, listening for sounds of life despite so many signs to the contrary.
Thirty seconds passed before Five took a step inside, eyes scanning the front hall as they adjusted to the dim interior. A row of metal mailboxes lined one wall, and a trash bin lay to one side, its contents blowing in the breeze from the open door. A staircase twisted upward, set halfway between the front and back, anchored to the wall opposite the mailboxes. Three simple light fixtures adorned the ceiling at regular intervals down the hall, one frosted glass shade shattered. Pieces of broken glass littered the floor below the empty socket, and Five wondered why whoever vandalized the first light left the other two intact. Or maybe it had been an accident done in haste.
Some mysteries aren’t worth solving, he thought, moving farther in so Lila could follow.
“Bottom up, or top down,” she asked, her voice lower than usual, as if she, too, were trying to keep an ear out for trouble.
Knitting his brows in thought, Five glanced around the entrance again, taking a few steps to look up the center of the stairwell. Both had their merits, but if anyone had survived in this city and had taken refuge in this apartment building, he'd assume they'd be on one of the upper levels. It was what he'd do. Take the high ground, barricade it off, and have an easy exit out the fire escape. And have as much sight in all directions as possible. Better to make anyone hiding out come to them instead of walking right up into a potential trap or startling someone with an itchy trigger finger.
"Bottom," he answered, stepping back from the stairs. "Front to back, left to right." He waited for her nod of understanding before crossing toward the nearest door. He could just make out a faint discoloration from where a number "1" had been mounted in the wood. Had it fallen off before or after everyone disappeared? He didn't spot it anywhere near the door itself, but that didn't answer anything. And, unless someone planned to use it to try to stab either of them, it didn't really matter, even if his curiosity kept threatening to push forward and make him look for answers in addition to food and clothes.
The apartment door gave more easily than the front door had, and, again, he waited a moment, listening. Again, no obvious noises of anyone shuffling to hide or rush them at the door, and no sounds of someone moving around the floor above. The only sounds he heard were their quiet inhales and exhales, calm and quiet. And in sync.
When had that happened, he wondered, taking a few slow steps into the apartment. At what point had they gone from working next to each other to working in tandem? When did he start trusting her to have his back? They'd worked well enough together years ago, in another lifetime. But the circumstances had been different. Or had they? The only real differences between six years ago and now had more to do with their abilities – in particular, his abilities – and where they'd been in their lives. The only difference was she had a family to get back to, and he had… an apartment emptier than the one he stood in now. It put a lot in perspective as he realized this picked over wasteland had more going for it than he had.
You can be depressed when you're warmer and less hungry, he scolded himself, frowning as he inspected several photos of an older couple on a photo rail in the hall. At least you're probably not hungry anymore, he thought at the pictures, lightly making his way down the hall toward the back of the apartment. He heard more than saw Lila heading toward the front, presumably going for the kitchen after doing a sweep of the rooms.
Once, this apartment had probably been nice. If the Victorian inspired plaster crown molding was anything to go by. The bathroom fixtures might have been new before whatever devastated this timeline, but Five thought it looked cold with all the porcelain, the rust in the clawfoot tub around the drain promising tetanus on contact. Not that it stopped him from opening the medicine and sink cabinets in search of anything they could use.
With a small, half empty first aid kit and an unopened bottle of peroxide for his trouble, he left the bathroom and its rust and grime to its own devices, concentrating on a linen closet – several blankets could be useful. He made a note to tell Lila about them – before moving on to the single bedroom.
Winter light filtered in through the lone double paned window, no doubt installed as part of whatever renovations had happened prior to the end of the world. A large bed with an ornate, dark wooden headboard sat across from the door, clearly the centerpiece of this room. A muted floral comforter lay across the mattress, two pillows in matching pillowcases resting against the headboard. Perhaps that had been a compromise, once upon a time. Florals and ornate furniture for darker woods and few extraneous clutter items. On the bed, at least.
Two matching nightstands stood sentinel on either side of the bed, identical lamps on top. However, that's where their similarities stopped. The left nightstand held a book he couldn't make out from the door, what looked to be a case for pills separated for the week, a box of tissues, and an empty glass, either for a nightcap or middle of the night hydration; he wasn't sure which. On the other lay a small stack of magazines, a tube he thought might hold face cream or body lotion, a digital alarm clock that didn't work, and another glass, shorter and holding something solid he couldn't quite make out from the door. Looking around, he noticed a few more pictures hanging from the walls; a black and white one over the bed showed the couple on what must have been their wedding day, glowing and gazing at each other with open adoration; one above the dresser next to the door showed the pair with a dog – a chocolate Labrador, from the looks of it – in the style of a family portrait, the couple in Buffalo plaid shirts while the dog had on a matching bowtie collar; a third hung in the center of the wall opposite the window, surrounded by smaller pictures, all various pictures of the man and woman in different locations, places they'd clearly gone together throughout the years. They looked happy and comfortable. And just as in love as they did in that wedding picture.
Again, Five couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering to his own life, his own empty apartment. He had the basics there, furniture and appliances. He had more books than might be reasonable. He even had a little plant – Bartholomew the zebra haworthia. But nothing about his apartment spoke of the person who lived there. Not like this one, with its scattered pieces of a life someone had built inside these walls.
Several crystal perfume bottles sat neatly on one side of the dresser, a dish for jewelry in front of them, and an empty necklace tree next to the half filled bottles. The other side held another picture, a single bottle of cologne, and an assortment of papers – one that had the look of an old playbill, a few scattered and faded receipts, and a list of projects to finish around the place. Dust topped everything on the dresser, undisturbed by even a fly.
Curiosity got the better of him, and Five picked up the various bottles, spraying each once to see what scents this couple had enjoyed. A woody perfume made him sneeze, and one with hints of something spicy made his nose crinkle up. However, he found the bottle with honeysuckles and gardenias pleasant enough, and he didn't hate the crisp, aquatic notes of the cologne. On an impulse, he stuffed both bottles into his bag as carefully as he could. He doubted their previous owners would miss them.
Without another thought, he pulled open one of the top drawers, switching his focus back to finding anything they could use.
Inside, he found socks and panties, which he supposed looked nice but weren't his personal style. He'd tell Lila in case they were her size and she wanted a change. The other top drawer held, unsurprisingly, more underwear and socks. It made him briefly wonder about just how many people kept those things toward the top of dressers, himself included. Ease of access as the most used items in a person's wardrobe? He thought that might be why he did it, and it made as much sense as anything else. He checked the sizes of the underwear before grabbing a couple, adding a few pairs of rolled up socks as well.
The rest of the drawers held pants, as well as a few sweaters and shirts. From what he could tell, they were in good condition, and he made a note to add that to the list of things to tell Lila about, in case she wanted to add another layer or two to keep warm. He knew he needed more clothes of his own, and he even picked up several of the sweaters. However, the actual thought of wearing one…
Something made him hesitate. He should have hesitated at the thought of wearing underwear from some stranger. Instead, the sweaters gave him pause. He tried to argue that wool was hard to clean, smelled like wet dog thanks to the lanolin, and itched. But it was something else that made him drag his feet about taking any. He knew he needed clean clothes, that his suit could only protect him so much from the elements. Not to mention, dirt gathered in the creases and settled in the fabric. He wanted to believe they'd get home soon, and he could simply burn this outfit and never think of it again. And he knew if he didn't change soon he risked developing some kind of rash, as well as letting germs grow.
So why couldn't he let it go? It was, after all, just clothes.
Frustrated, he stuffed the least offensive feeling cotton sweater in his bag and shut the drawer with a little too much force, rattling the remaining perfuming bottles. He shot them a glare, as if his inability to part with his suit was their fault, then turned ninety degrees on his heel, focusing all of his attention on the partially open closet door next to the dresser.
Although small, the closet's layout maximized the space. On one side, dresses, skirts, blouses, and a couple of coats hung; on the other, dress shirts, button up flannels, and jackets filled the space. It reminded him of skin shed by a snake – limp, dry, and too delicate to touch. His eyes darted around at the boxes stored above and below, stopping on two labeled Winter – Abel's and Winter – Edith's in large, neat script.
Abel, Edith, I thank you for all your generous donations this holiday season, he thought as he pulled both boxes down one at a time, crouching beside them so he could investigate what treasures they might hold.
Among a few extra sweaters, Abel's box housed a simple black scarf and matching hat, both of which Five snatched. He quickly wrapped the scarf around his neck, tugging the hat on over his head and ears. Despite letting his hair grow out over the years, the warmth trapped by the hat did more to make him feel less cold than his hair ever did. He dug around the box a little more, quietly cursing at the lack of gloves. Wherever Abel had gone, he'd clearly taken his one and only pair with him.
Edith's box was a different story. Inside, he found several multi-colored winter hats, each with its own matching pom-pom, several Christmas themed sweaters, and extra gloves. He was pretty sure Edith had gloves that matched her hats, but Five looked for the simplest of them, debating for a moment between a light pink set and a dark blue one. The dark blue hat and gloves won out, mostly because they felt sturdier. If Lila wanted something to match her puffer coat, she was welcome to grab it herself. However, he doubted they'd hold up as well to the cold, especially the single layer gloves.
"Oy. What're you doing?"
Leave it to Lila to appear simply because he'd been thinking of her too much.
"Getting you a Christmas present," he replied, pushing himself back up and turning toward her. "You said you were cold." He held out the hat and gloves, ignoring the small knot of anxiety that formed in his stomach. What did it matter if she didn't like what he'd picked out? She could have her pick of anything in the apartment – and the others – if it didn't suit whatever taste or desire she had about winter outerwear.
Something in her face softened, and he swallowed a knot in his throat as that softness gave way to a smile.
"Always knew you were a big old softy," she teased as she took the offered articles of clothing, quickly shoving her hands into the gloves before yanking the hat haphazardly onto her head.
"Well, before you start shouting slander to anyone who'll listen, take this, too." He rummaged around his bag and pulled out the crystal bottle of honeysuckle and gardenia perfume. "You smell like you haven't bathed in weeks," he said as he handed it to her. The harshness of his words was undercut by the easy teasing in his tone, and he couldn't help but smile just a bit when she laughed.
"Says the man whose hair looks brittle enough to break," she countered, a sparkle in her eye. Her attention dropped to the bottle in her hands, and that ball of anxiety once again formed in his stomach.
It doesn't matter if she doesn't like it. There are other bottles she can choose from if she really wants perfume, he snapped at himself, his lips pursed together in anticipation.
Lila pushed up one sleeve of her coat, spritzed her arm once, and smelled. She seemed to think about it for an eternity, Five trying to read her reaction. The fact that she didn't immediately recoil had to mean something, but he couldn't tell if she liked it. And he couldn't understand why it suddenly mattered.
"Not bad, old man. You got some taste after all," she said, and something in his chest eased, that little anxiety ball disappearing. He shrugged, his only response, before nodding toward the dresser.
"Top drawers have socks and underwear–" He ignored her smirk and wiggling brows at the mention of underwear, pushing on as if he didn't notice at all. "But the clothes in all the drawers are in pretty good condition. There are blankets in the hall closet we might be able to use, and extra coats in there." He nodded toward the bedroom closet. "You find anything?"
Shaking her head while carefully putting the perfume bottle into her own bag, she said, "Food's all gone. And I'm not desperate enough to eat expired dog kibble. However–" Oh, that look in her eye, the way the corners of her mouth turned up – he knew that look. It meant trouble. It meant she found something that would no doubt cause him pain and misery. He hated that look. "I did find something interesting. C'mon."
She didn't wait for his response, reaching out to grab hold of his hand and tug him out of the bedroom. Instinct more than anything had him pulling back, shifting his weight to give some resistance. It wasn't enough to stop her forward momentum; just enough to make it clear he was going along with her against his better judgement. If he stopped to think about it, he'd realize he did that a lot where she was concerned. But he didn't, because it was easier to let her tug him along to see what fresh hell she wrought upon his life.
Not that it stopped him from letting out an exasperated sigh as she dragged him out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the living room. Or rather, almost into the living room. She came to a halt before they got there, turning toward him but not letting go of his hand.
"So. You've not celebrated Christmas since dear old Reg gave you the best narcissist's Christmas ever, right?"
"I mean, I've wished people a merry Christmas before–"
"Doesn't count, Five. The lady at the checkout of the corner store does that. And saying it in response to someone saying it to you doesn't count, either," she added quickly as he opened his mouth to protest. He shut it with a glare, and they stared at each other for a few seconds. When she seemed satisfied he wasn't going to interrupt her again to argue the point, she continued.
"You haven't celebrated at all, basically, which means you probably haven't participated in a lot of Christmas traditions, right?"
Five studied her for a few seconds, trying to determine both where this was going and if there was a right answer to this question. Deciding he shouldn't care, he said, "Correct."
"And that means," she said, excitement creeping into her voice, and an all too familiar sparkle of mischief flashing in her eyes, "you've probably never had the chance to experience the joys and horrors of mistletoe!"
With a guarded look and a sinking suspicion he wouldn't like where this was going, he stared at her, trying to comprehend what she meant. It wasn't until she pointedly looked up that he saw it – a plastic bit of green decor with white berries hanging on a red ribbon in the space between the hall and kitchen, right above where they stood.
"Lila." He dropped his gaze back to her, hating the gleam of mischief there.
"Oh, come on. It's not like I'm asking you to snog," she said, clearly amused with herself, her grin widening as he rolled his eyes.
Abel and Edith clearly thought this tradition was cute, and maybe it had been for them. Five could see a certain appeal to "getting caught" under fake mistletoe with someone special. However, he was less sure about any appeal when it felt more like being forced to participate in holiday traditions with someone whose intentions leaned more toward the chaotic at (nearly) any cost.
"That's a relief," he said, ignoring the fact that he stayed put, held on to her hand. "Can't think of the last time either of us brushed our teeth." But he could. Three days ago, when they'd found a timeline devastated by some kind of disease that had left survivors mutated and hungry. He'd hesitated to call them zombies as the group that had chased him and Lila had full control of their mental faculties; however, their need to get somewhere safe had come at the sacrifice of some of their supplies, including their toothbrushes and toothpaste. Bringing it up at that moment seemed like the wrong move, and he was already unsure of what the right one was.
"Additionally," he continued, "why do you assume I haven't kissed anyone under mistletoe?" Apparently defensive annoyance was the move he'd chosen.
"Have you?" she countered, and he wished she'd faltered just a little, had doubted for even a second that maybe he had done more stupid Christmas traditions than he actually had.
They stared at each other, a game of chicken, waiting for the other to break. Except the longer the silence stretched, the more obvious his answer was. The fact that he hadn't kissed anyone under mistletoe didn't bother him. It was the fact that she cared if he had or not that did. Why did it matter if he had or hadn't kissed someone under a piece of real or fake parasitic plant? Why did she care if he celebrated anything, if he participated in any holiday traditions? And why did it bother him so much that she did?
Without warning, Lila closed the distance between them. For a split second, he panicked, eyes widening slightly. He didn't like not knowing what she was going to do. She could just as soon kill him as kiss him, and he didn't doubt he could hold his own against her still. However, explaining to their families why she hadn't returned… That was a story he didn't want to tell. Or live through, if he were honest. He may have once wanted to kill her for impeding his progress, but now he just wanted to get both of them home.
The split second passed, and she veered slightly to the side, planting a kiss on his cheek. That, he decided, was somehow far worse than killing him or giving him some kind of obligatory peck on the lips. That, he decided, was mean in a way he couldn't quite explain, even to himself. He glared as she pulled back, meeting her too pleased grin with furrowed brows and warm cheeks.
"There. Now you've had a mistletoe kiss, and I made you blush," she said, clearly amused with herself and his reaction.
"I'm not blushing," he countered quickly. "It's cold, and my cheeks are just chapped from the weather."
She raised her free hand to the cheek she'd kissed, patting it, pressing suede against his too hot skin. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Five," she said, still looking like the cat who'd eaten the canary. Then her hands were at her sides, his hand and face oddly cold without them there. Her weight shifted away, squeezing by him to head back down the hall. Instinctively, he stepped aside, twisting to watch her go.
"If this lady's got good clothes, I'm gonna change," she called, pausing in the bedroom doorway to turn back toward him. For a few seconds, she just stood there, watching him with an expression he couldn't quite decipher on her face. Was she hesitating? Why would she hesitate? He didn't know, and he almost opened his mouth to say something to help give her whatever focus she might need. But, not knowing what to say, he didn't.
Her face softening at wherever her thoughts had landed, Lila gave him an open smile. "Thanks, Five. For the gifts." She held up her hands, showing off the gloves, as if he didn't remember he'd picked those out for her, as if he'd forgotten he'd snatched the hat and perfume for her as well. Then, before he could respond, she slipped inside the bedroom and hastily shut the door.
"Yeah," he said quietly, watching the blank wood as if she still stood there. "You, too." He brought his hand up to his cheek, fingers brushing lightly over the spot where her lips had briefly rested.