Work Text:
He's been buried in a pile of paperwork for hours and he's so deaf to the rest of the world that the sound of something slamming down on his desk makes Cullen jump. He looks up, startled, to find a thick sandwich wrapped in butcher's paper from the shop next door lying on his desk, next to a bottle of water, which is probably what made the noise. Cullen looks up to find Ellana grinning at him, leaning her hip against the corner of his desk, her own sandwich open in her hands and already half-eaten. "I thought you might not have had time to eat."
"You're right," Cullen says ruefully.
"Just paperwork today?" She takes a bite of her sandwich and chews, raising her eyebrows at him.
Cullen shrugs. "For the most part, yes," he says. "I caught a burglar earlier who didn't want to take a deal, but otherwise, it's as you see here." He spreads his hands helplessly over the stacks of forms and reports on his desk.
He is the overworked and underpaid public defender for South Central; technically, he's paid by the city of Haven, but his clients are those who can't afford a solicitor of their own, and he has no shortage of them. There are currently only twelve public defenders in the entire city. Most of the time Cullen feels the honor, but sometimes he wishes the city would shell out for two or three more of him. If only to help with the paperwork.
Ellana swallows, her mouth twisting into a rueful smile. "Rough," she says lightly. "Anything I can do?"
"Not unless your talent is something about paperwork," Cullen says, raising an eyebrow.
She laughs. Her eyes tell Cullen that it's at his expense. "Go fish."
He plants his elbow on the paperwork in front of him, heedless of wrinkles in the paper, and rests his chin on his hand. "You'll have to tell me someday, you know," Cullen says. He's both teasing and completely serious at the same time.
It's weird that Ellana's never told him what she can do. Most people don't hide it, not like this, unless it's something socially unacceptable, or illegal to perform. The department found out Cullen's within two days of his coming to work here. Somehow Ellana's kept hers secret for months. Cullen doesn't know whether to be affronted or reluctantly impressed.
"You might be right," Ellana agrees, a light of amusement in her eyes. "Or, on the other hand, maybe not."
Cullen wrinkles his nose. "Fine. Keep your secrets."
Her laughter is a gift Cullen wishes he could keep to himself. Cullen's office is open, connected to the bullpen on one side and the booking desk on the other; the whole world walks by his desk, it feels like, and never is he more conscious of that then when she drops by.
"What's your assignment today?" he asks her abruptly. "Are you stationed here, or...?"
His intent is to ask her to stay and eat with him, but Cullen's hopes are dashed when Ellana shakes her head.
"I'm on patrol by the historical district," she says, taking another bite of her sandwich. "Which is much better than meter maid duty, so I'm happy."
Even the way that she's talking through her food isn't really putting him off. Cullen is vaguely disgusted with himself.
(But somehow, not with Ellana. She looks... cute, instead. Like a chipmunk. Insanity.)
She bumps the edge of his desk again, a gesture that feels affectionate even though realistically Cullen knows she's probably off balance or something similar, and stands up. "I'm off," she says, smirking at him. "Do try to look up every now and then, won't you? It's not good for your neck."
"Yes, mother," Cullen says in an sarcastic voice to make her laugh. But then Ellana turns and starts to walk away, without even asking, and Cullen sits up straighter, confusion coming over him. "Wait!" he calls to her. Ellana twists around to raise her eyebrows at him – her mouth is full again. "Don't you want – "
Cullen wiggles his fingers at her instead of saying it out loud; he's already pulling the cup out of thin air when she shakes her head and winks at him.
He stares after her slight form as she threads her way through the busy bullpen and out the door so ably that he knows more than one of the sergeants has speculated that it's her talent and she'll be assigned to riot control because of it.
What just happened? Ellana always lets him give her a cup of coffee, even if it's late and she's on her way home. Has Cullen offended her somehow? But then why would she bring him lunch? And it's his order, Cullen discovers when he opens the sandwich. It's the reuben that he always gets. If she were angry with him, she would have brought him something rancid. He's under no illusions regarding the fierceness of her temper when she's been wronged. If Cullen had done something to anger her, he would know it.
Given that... He still has no idea what's going on.
Over the next few weeks, Cullen descends into a state of bewilderment and uncertainty that just keeps growing more and more profound, because this same scene plays out every time that Ellana swings by his desk. She brings him lunch, an umbrella when he's forgotten his and it's pouring down outside, or she simply stops by when Cullen's lost in his work and needs someone to jerk him back into the real world.
She's always there when he needs her. And she won't let him reciprocate. It's not that Ellana doesn't like the coffee that Cullen makes, either, because she's a cop born and she actually enjoys the bullpen sludge.
(Unlike Cullen. Once in a great while he grows absolutely morbid over the fact that his inborn superpower is the ability to manifest a mediocre cup of coffee that he wouldn't drink if it were the last thing on earth.)
(He has an espresso machine at home.)
She's never turned him down before this.
Cullen glances up and into the bullpen and as if by magic, Ellana is on the other side of the room talking to the inspector on duty; it looks like they're going over some sort of report. Her face is very serious. She's presented to him in profile, her hair tucked up into the uniform cap on her head, and like a man possessed, Cullen's eyes trace the clean lines of her face and her stubborn chin down to her neck before she glances over at him.
It's too far to see if there's any sort of expression on her face. Cullen knows what he wants to see. But that's just wishful thinking, isn't it?
(Isn't it?)
He swallows and looks away, back to his desk, at his rightful work; Cullen knows he can't bear much more of this. He'll have to take his courage firmly in hand and ask her why she won't let him give her the only thing he has to give.
Soon.
———
The next time Ellana swings by his desk with a pocket full of shortbread cookies and a bright smile, Cullen takes her by the shoulders and steers her into one of the empty interrogation rooms, ignoring her laughing, bewildered protests. He closes the door behind them with a soft click that echoes through the room.
When Cullen turns around, Ellana's got her hands in the pockets of her jacket and she's biting her lip to hide the amusement that's bright in her eyes. She doesn't say anything; instead, she raises her eyebrows at him in a silent question that speaks volumes.
"Have you stopped drinking coffee?"
It was the most sensible reason Cullen could think of, though he would never have thought Ellana would do it, not in a thousand years.
"Of course not," Ellana says, looking at him as though he's gone a bit mad.
It's the answer he expected, but not the one he'd hoped for. He wanted it to be simple. "Are you ill, then? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, Cullen!" Ellana says, laughing. "Why are you panicking?"
Cullen is intensely aware that he is, in fact, acting quite insane. He rakes a hand through his hair and sighs explosively, bracing himself for the words that have to come out of his mouth now. "You stopped taking the coffee," he mutters. "And I thought maybe you were done with me? But you keep bringing me lunch, and... and everything else. So I..."
He finally allows himself to look into Ellana's eyes, bracing himself for the laughter he's sure to find, but it's not there. She's watching him with a soft, bracing support, instead, like she knows that he needs to get this out. And that allows Cullen to let go of everything else so that he can finally ask the basic question.
"Why?"
It comes out more plaintive than he'd like, but at least it's out. Cullen can't swallow it back now. He waits, with bated breath, as she smiles at him.
"Cullen, I wasn't hanging around for the free coffee," Ellana says gently. "I got the feeling that perhaps you didn't know that, so I thought I'd make sure you did. I didn't mean to send you into a tailspin about it, I swear. Though I suppose I could have been more clear," she says, a teasing note coming into her voice.
A pure wave of relief slams into Cullen so hard that it threatens to make his knees liquefy underneath him. "You might have," he agrees, his voice slightly hoarse. "That was not what I got out of that, at all."
"That isn't my fault!" she protests.
"Well, it certainly isn't mine," Cullen tells her, unable to keep the smile from spreading on his face. He feels a thousand pounds lighter, which just points out that he really was worrying excessively for no reason at all. Ah, well. She never needs to know that.
Ellana gives him a look, slightly dubious, all laughter. "Sure, you keep telling yourself that."
"Hang on," Cullen says, frowning, as he remembers that's only half of what he'd wanted to ask her about. "Then why do you keep bringing me snacks and umbrellas and – and anything I need?"
The thought jumps between two scattered neurons in his mind, sparking something that's almost an idea, almost an epiphany, something just out of reach at the end of his fingertips...
Ellana sighs, her shoulders creeping up toward her ears. "I suppose it was too much to hope that you wouldn't notice," she says with resignation. "You caught me. It's my talent. I don't tell people about it because I'm already at a disadvantage being female, an elf, and short. I don't need to be told to go back to the kitchen on top of everything else. Figures I'd end up with something like this, though. It tells me what people need." She looks up at him, her eyes huge and slightly nervous. "The people I really care about," she says quietly.
Cullen's breath catches in his throat.
That can't mean what he thinks it means, what he really, really wants it to mean. It can't. He's not that lucky.
"Care about?" he repeats cautiously. "In what way?"
Ellana looks at him for a long time, her eyebrows drawn together, like she's trying to learn him using only her eyes, like she's trying to figure out the core of what makes Cullen who he is; she must be content with what she finds, because her eyes warm up until Cullen's wrapped up in them, drowning in her, the rest of the world ceasing to exist.
"Come get a drink with me tomorrow night, and I'll explain," Ellana says, smiling at him with such cheeky self-assurance that Cullen is caught in a wave of wholly unreasonable fondness.
Trust her to find the words he never could.
"So long as it's not coffee," Cullen says, and grins at the sound of Ellana's laughter.