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Save the last dance for me - Nikita and Jason spend a few minutes together on New Year's Even.
Jason's not old enough to drink by New York's standards, but it's less that that's prevented him drinking much all night, so much as the fact that he doesn't yet have a taste for it. He'll drink when Bucky breaks out a bottle, but that's mostly to keep up, and even then he hates the taste of whiskey. He's been nursing the same cup of beer for hours, content to wander the outskirts of the gathering, still undecided whether he's looking for fun or for trouble tonight.
Or both.
Turning, he finds his eyes caught on a long, pale leg emerging from the high slit of a red gown, tapering down into a foot strapped into an impossibly high heel. Jason blinks, but can't quite look away.
"I take it you like the dress," Nikita teases, voice fond and familiar. It's so like Birkhoff, sometimes, how Jason looks and tries not to look and looks again, that it soothes the ache of missing Nerd's voice in her ear, guiding her through the party to her target. It helps, too, with knowing Michael's not waiting to slide his hand up her thigh and wrap her around him at the end of this night.
She's here for Alex, because she's young and she needs to get out, enjoy whatever there is of this life. And for Jason, because he needs to believe she's doing better after Halloween. Mostly, the glass of Cristal she raises to her scarlet lips is for Michael, for his voice in her head telling her to live. For him.
Jason's head jerks up with an actual snap, his eyes wide when he raises a hand to the hot skin of his neck, rubbing at the twinged nerve there. "It's not bad," he concedes, smile a little less sharp than it might have been, tinged with embarrassment for having been caught. There are days when she looks enough like Talia that his heart gets stuck in his throat, but it's far worse to feel his blood surging elsewhere.
He takes a bracing swig of his cold beer, find that sharp smile again. "Looking for somebody to kiss?"
Yes, her heart says and it's in her eyes, too, but the somebody isn't here and as far as she knows, he's dead. "No," she says softly instead, watching the signs of arousal and embarrassment course through him without reacting beyond a sip of Cristal and a sweetly playful smile. He's too young for her, even if she were looking, but he's become hers in the same way Birkhoff is. Beyond question and to the ends of the earth.
Which is why she finds herself holding out her hand to him, slender arm and hand elegant and painfully graceful in their extension. "But I wouldn't mind having someone to dance with--" And maybe to share a friendly kiss with at midnight. "If you're here alone."
"Aren't I always?" Jason asks. He loves and hates with his whole heart, always has, and Lux is long gone. There's no one that Jason wants, not like that, and he reaches out, broad and calloused hand slipped inside Nikita's own. "I used to know the fancy dances," he says. "When I was with Bruce. I doubt I can do them anymore." His eyes widen suddenly. "And no fucking macarena."
Nikita laughs abruptly, startled by the coincidence with a memory of Birkhoff. "Not even for me?" she teases, but it's gentle, affectionate. She knows he'd do anything for her, and she'll do her best not to abuse it. "Birkhoff always says he doesn't work with kids and dogs." Her arm drapes casually over his shoulder for now, and she finds both comfort and a keen sense of longing in the closeness. It's strange that she got used to being held, with Michael, but with Daniel, she never did. "Is the macarena your no-can-do-Nikki line?"
"No can do Nikki," Jason repeats with a grin. He'll remember that. "It's definitely a line." Though if he's honest, if she asked him to do that stupid dance, he probably would. He doesn't do dancing in general, really, yet here he is the very instant she extended her hand. Jason lifts it now, trying to remember his lessons from so long ago, still safely beneath the room of Wayne Manor. "Am I doing this right?"
Nikki. Nerd's pretty much the only person alive who calls her that, but Nikita gave him the key and permission to use it, and she thinks, it's all right, she might even like hearing it. It makes her a little sad, though, carving a little deeper into the hollow in her heart, and instead of instructing him in formal dance, she tips her head against his and murmurs, "Tonight, little bird, you couldn't possibly do it wrong."
Jason snorts, but it's quiet, far from his usual indelicacy. It feels wrong to be crass when she looks so nice and is letting him hold her so close. "I haven't stepped on your feet yet," he notes. "I did the foxtrot once. It was horrifying, and Bruce made me dance with this girl, I can't remember her name anymore. Debutante. All I remember is her pink shoes and how I wasn't allowed to stomp back when she stepped all over me."
Nikita laughs softly, charmed by the absolute normalcy of the image. "I'll add it to your lessons. You can dance with me or Alex, and I can promise we won't wear pink, or step on your toes." She pulls back enough to let him see the teasing light in her eyes when she says, "At least not by accident. It's a good skill to have, a good way to case a room or feel out a target without being noticed." Because she can't help it, she asks, "Tell me three other ways you could use formal dance on an op."
Jason considers, face scrunched for a long moment while he calls up and discards various scenarios. But then he smiles, big and bright. "No can do, Nikki." Lifting an arm, he twirls her as best he can, his natural grace making up for any lack of skill. "Let's be normals, just for a little while longer."
Jason's not old enough to drink by New York's standards, but it's less that that's prevented him drinking much all night, so much as the fact that he doesn't yet have a taste for it. He'll drink when Bucky breaks out a bottle, but that's mostly to keep up, and even then he hates the taste of whiskey. He's been nursing the same cup of beer for hours, content to wander the outskirts of the gathering, still undecided whether he's looking for fun or for trouble tonight.
Or both.
Turning, he finds his eyes caught on a long, pale leg emerging from the high slit of a red gown, tapering down into a foot strapped into an impossibly high heel. Jason blinks, but can't quite look away.
"I take it you like the dress," Nikita teases, voice fond and familiar. It's so like Birkhoff, sometimes, how Jason looks and tries not to look and looks again, that it soothes the ache of missing Nerd's voice in her ear, guiding her through the party to her target. It helps, too, with knowing Michael's not waiting to slide his hand up her thigh and wrap her around him at the end of this night.
She's here for Alex, because she's young and she needs to get out, enjoy whatever there is of this life. And for Jason, because he needs to believe she's doing better after Halloween. Mostly, the glass of Cristal she raises to her scarlet lips is for Michael, for his voice in her head telling her to live. For him.
Jason's head jerks up with an actual snap, his eyes wide when he raises a hand to the hot skin of his neck, rubbing at the twinged nerve there. "It's not bad," he concedes, smile a little less sharp than it might have been, tinged with embarrassment for having been caught. There are days when she looks enough like Talia that his heart gets stuck in his throat, but it's far worse to feel his blood surging elsewhere.
He takes a bracing swig of his cold beer, find that sharp smile again. "Looking for somebody to kiss?"
Yes, her heart says and it's in her eyes, too, but the somebody isn't here and as far as she knows, he's dead. "No," she says softly instead, watching the signs of arousal and embarrassment course through him without reacting beyond a sip of Cristal and a sweetly playful smile. He's too young for her, even if she were looking, but he's become hers in the same way Birkhoff is. Beyond question and to the ends of the earth.
Which is why she finds herself holding out her hand to him, slender arm and hand elegant and painfully graceful in their extension. "But I wouldn't mind having someone to dance with--" And maybe to share a friendly kiss with at midnight. "If you're here alone."
"Aren't I always?" Jason asks. He loves and hates with his whole heart, always has, and Lux is long gone. There's no one that Jason wants, not like that, and he reaches out, broad and calloused hand slipped inside Nikita's own. "I used to know the fancy dances," he says. "When I was with Bruce. I doubt I can do them anymore." His eyes widen suddenly. "And no fucking macarena."
Nikita laughs abruptly, startled by the coincidence with a memory of Birkhoff. "Not even for me?" she teases, but it's gentle, affectionate. She knows he'd do anything for her, and she'll do her best not to abuse it. "Birkhoff always says he doesn't work with kids and dogs." Her arm drapes casually over his shoulder for now, and she finds both comfort and a keen sense of longing in the closeness. It's strange that she got used to being held, with Michael, but with Daniel, she never did. "Is the macarena your no-can-do-Nikki line?"
"No can do Nikki," Jason repeats with a grin. He'll remember that. "It's definitely a line." Though if he's honest, if she asked him to do that stupid dance, he probably would. He doesn't do dancing in general, really, yet here he is the very instant she extended her hand. Jason lifts it now, trying to remember his lessons from so long ago, still safely beneath the room of Wayne Manor. "Am I doing this right?"
Nikki. Nerd's pretty much the only person alive who calls her that, but Nikita gave him the key and permission to use it, and she thinks, it's all right, she might even like hearing it. It makes her a little sad, though, carving a little deeper into the hollow in her heart, and instead of instructing him in formal dance, she tips her head against his and murmurs, "Tonight, little bird, you couldn't possibly do it wrong."
Jason snorts, but it's quiet, far from his usual indelicacy. It feels wrong to be crass when she looks so nice and is letting him hold her so close. "I haven't stepped on your feet yet," he notes. "I did the foxtrot once. It was horrifying, and Bruce made me dance with this girl, I can't remember her name anymore. Debutante. All I remember is her pink shoes and how I wasn't allowed to stomp back when she stepped all over me."
Nikita laughs softly, charmed by the absolute normalcy of the image. "I'll add it to your lessons. You can dance with me or Alex, and I can promise we won't wear pink, or step on your toes." She pulls back enough to let him see the teasing light in her eyes when she says, "At least not by accident. It's a good skill to have, a good way to case a room or feel out a target without being noticed." Because she can't help it, she asks, "Tell me three other ways you could use formal dance on an op."
Jason considers, face scrunched for a long moment while he calls up and discards various scenarios. But then he smiles, big and bright. "No can do, Nikki." Lifting an arm, he twirls her as best he can, his natural grace making up for any lack of skill. "Let's be normals, just for a little while longer."
