Work Text:
Jillian Holtzmann wandered down the firehouse hallway, fiddling with the broken gadget in her hand. A rough call earlier that week had left the team short a few weapons--steep stairs in old buildings don’t mix with ice and fumbled machinery--but she was working on refurbishing and repurposing the remains. She was thinking of traps that would deploy in mid-air when thrown; that could significantly reduce confrontation time, she figured, and would be just plain fun. Gotta bust ‘em all.
Holtzmann smiled and slowed her step as she approached the little room (which she was fairly certain used to be a supply closet) that you had claimed as your personal office when you finally decided to join the Ghostbusters full-time. Together with Patty, you provided historical background for the team, and lately you’d been hard at work following the paper trails of local supposedly haunted objects. Holtzmann was proud of your work ethic and the headway you’d been making, but she often missed the days you spent with her in her lab when your relationship was first developing. You’d sit on her workbench with an often-ignored book, listening with genuine interest as Holtzmann described her current projects, happily fetching supplies and snack food, jamming with her to her favorite ‘80s throwback radio station, and kissing her whenever her energy and enthusiasm bubbled over. Thinking back to those days with warm fondness, she now nudged your door open another few inches and peeked in.
The tiny room smelled like coffee and books that had been growing musty in archives for years before you pulled them. You were perched in your second-hand office chair with your back to Holtzmann, your legs tucked into a pretzel under you, your fingers hovering over your laptop’s keyboard. You were bobbing your head to the song that was just fading out; Holtzmann noticed with delight that the CD case lying next to your retro-looking boombox belonged to one of the many mixes she’d made for you. Grinning, she knocked lightly on your door and stepped all the way in.
“Special delivery for (Y/N), one hot distraction with a side of potential radioactivity,” she said.
A smile split your face as you spun in your chair. “Just in time,” you joked back. “I felt the urge to do something productive coming on.”
“Can’t have that.” Holtzmann added her current project to the pile of miscellany on a rickety little table near the door and walked over to you. She leaned on the back of your chair and rested her chin on your shoulder to take a peek at your laptop screen. You had about a dozen tabs open and were currently examining a scan of an old handwritten document. “Looks like I might be too late. What’s this?”
You sighed lightly. Even after months of flirting and dating, being this close to Holtzmann always sent a thrill across your skin. “This is me going down a rabbit hole,” you said. “I’ve been tracking this one family’s estate for a while--classic string of freak accidents, a few fires and dead delivery people, you know--but as far as I can tell the trail ends here. Everything scatters, and I’ve been looking at random old auction records and tax documents for ages.”
“If you can actually pick through this old handwriting, you can sniff out anything worth finding,” Holtzmann said, squinting at your screen through the yellow lenses of her glasses. She gave your shoulder a squeeze. “Hey, why don’t you take a quick break? Think about something besides Granny’s haunted tea service for a while?” She shifted her gaze to your CD player, reaching for the volume. “Three-minute dance party?”
You giggled at the brief image of a floral teacup spewing ectoplasm on your own uptight grandmother, then untucked your legs and got to your feet. “Aren’t you also busy fixing...ah, forget it. I’m game.”
Holtzmann grinned and cranked up the volume on one of your favorite songs, then slinked backwards into the largest open space in your closet-office, beckoning you towards her. A smile played on the corners of your mouth as you tried to mimic her mock-serious expression, moving your hips and shoulders in time with the bassline. The dramatic lip-syncing quickly melted into laughter as your dancing escalated; your girlfriend’s wild kineticism was infectious. Normally you’d feel awkward dancing spontaneously in broad daylight, but with Holtzmann, anything that you would’ve once felt judged for was to be celebrated. She made you feel as you as you could be.
Holtzmann locked eyes with you, punctuated a double-entendre in the lyrics with a wink, and danced closer to you. You played along, probably blushing a little, but she quickly changed tack and spun away as the chorus started again. The song was just wrapping up--you rocking out on an imaginary guitar, Holtzmann miraculously making the moonwalk work with this tempo--when she danced into a precarious stack of books and sent them sliding to the floor. The sudden clatter made you jump, and Holtzmann looked at you, suppressing laughter.
“Babe, your face,” she chuckled. “Sorry about the books, but…”
“No, don’t worry about it,” you said with a relieved laugh. “We could’ve knocked over one of the artifacts. Like that creepy mask. Or the...oh, christ, the ashes.” You gestured to the shelves behind Holtzmann, which were filled with bizarre items you’d acquired from estate sales, thrift shops, and spooked owners for both atmospheric and research purposes. You did have a small urn of ashes, but you were fairly certain they were pet remains. Fairly certain.
“I could’ve knocked the ashes into the garbage. Or...or into your coffee,” Holtzmann said, sputtering with amusement as if casual desecration was the funniest thing since YouTube.
You both doubled over laughing, Holtzmann gripping your arm. She straightened up slowly, wiping tears from under her glasses. “Hoo boy,” she said, still laughing a little. “That just gave me the greatest idea for my next prank on the others.”
“You wouldn’t!” you exclaimed, but your tone was just as playful as hers. When her eyes lit up like that you could never argue.
“Not real ashes! But,” she said, “your discretion on the matter is still appreciated.” She quirked an eyebrow and put her finger on your mouth.
You smiled and took that hand in yours, then leaned in to kiss her sweetly. “My lips are sealed.”
Holtzmann smirked and cupped your face in her other hand. “I still get the VIP pass, though, right?” She kissed you more aggressively to demonstrate. You struggled with whether or not to remind her that you were both technically working, but she pulled away on her own.
“You’re cold,” she said, rubbing a concerned thumb along your cheekbone. “Drafty in here?”
“A little,” you admitted. “I’m not sure it’s even insulated. And if it is, it’s probably straw.”
“I could give you a quick warm-up, you know.”
“As much as I’d like to say yes to that, Holtzy,” you teased, “we should both be getting back to work.”
“Oh, your practicality kills me,” Holtzmann said, ruffling your hair affectionately. “Here, take this. I’ll have a look at the heating in here later.” She shrugged off her robe and handed it to you. The red clashed horribly with your outfit, but it was cozy and smelled like her--a warm, cinnamon-like musk under the tang of metal and whatever chemical she’d spilled on it last--so you put it on gladly.
“Thank you,” you said, turning to lower the volume on your CD player. “This is much better. And thanks for stopping in.” You leaned back on your desk and smiled broadly at your girlfriend.
“Anytime! Ready to get back to research?” Holtzmann followed you almost imperceptibly.
You nodded. “You always know what I need.” Hesitating slightly, you added, “I love you.” You knew that was a given, but neither of you had expressed it plainly before.
Holtzmann’s eyes widened momentarily, then she gently grabbed your face and planted a kiss on your forehead, the tip of your nose, and finally, your lips. “I love you, too.” Stepping away reluctantly, she said, “I should get back to the lab. Gonna start a prototype for those flying traps.” With an awkward half-wave, half-salute, she backed out of your office.
Your cheeks were starting to hurt from grinning and you thought the warmth in your chest was going to make your heart burst as you sank back into your chair. You listened to Holtzmann’s footsteps for a few paces--was she still dancing?--then suddenly she was back in the room.
“Forgot these parts,” she said, grabbing the gadget she’d dropped on your table when she first came in. “See you later, babe.”
“Wait a sec, Holtz,” you called after her. She paused in the doorway, eyebrows raised in anticipation. “I’ll take you up on that warm-up offer later. If anything, the firehouse gets colder after hours.” You smirked and spun back towards your laptop before she could see your flush deepen, but you caught her celebratory fist-pump out of the corner of your eye before she continued on her way.
Okay, Holtzmann thought, she still missed seeing your face around the lab every day. But visiting you in your office definitely had its perks.