a/n- Hiya! This was written a couple of weeks ago for the ever wonderful Falc's One-Shot Fridays, over at the CBS message board. The prompt was a holiday story of some sort, and I decided the New Years sort of counted. This was me experimenting with a mostly dialogue piece, so let me know what you think of that!
11:52 pm, December 31st, 2005
Jake's Bar, DC
"An optimist stays up until midnight to see the New Year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves." – Bill Vaughn
"Hey Jake, can we get another round in over here?"
"Same again, man!"
Elle and Morgan were slumped over the less than sanitary bar, surrounded empty bottles and shot glasses. It was New Years Eve, and finding themselves without any plans, they'd headed out, with vague notions of having 'merry New Year fun times'. Hours had passed, filled with a bit of dancing, a little chatter, and a whole lot of mockery. Just now, they were playing truth or dare, with Elle in the lead.
"Alright Morgan, just admit it. You're my bitch."
"You are so…" her words only slurring slightly. "I kicked your ass from here to Sunday."
Two more dirty brown shots were placed in front of them.
"Count of three?"
There was a thunk as the two glasses were slammed back down in unison.
The jukebox kicked in, blasting some eighties power ballad through the smoky air. Morgan's face lit up into a goofy grin.
"Aw man, I'd forgotten about this song! Quick, dance with me!"
In his addled state, Derek didn't really realise that dancing would require getting up off the stool. Instead what happened was he grabbed Elle's hands, ready to pull her to her feet, and instead pulled the both of them over onto the floor. He really did underestimate his own strength sometimes. The stool hit the panels with an ominous sounding crack, and Elle crashed down on top of Morgan.
"You're a lucky one Derek. If I'd fallen one inch to the left, I'm pretty sure my knee would have deprived your Mom of grandkids."
He chuckled as much as one can when winded.
"Lucky I'm such a good catch."
Maybe it was the fact that they could hear the cheering ringing in the New Year. Maybe it was the fact that their combined blood alcohol level could have put Reid in a coma. Maybe it was the cheesy eighties power ballad. In years to come, a combination of all three would be blamed in varying degrees. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Maybe Derek started it. Maybe Elle did. Both would blame the other in years to come. Maybe, maybe.
But what we do know for certain is that a kiss happened, lying on the scummy floor of Jake's Bar. Tentative and unsure. Awkward. Very, definitely awkward.
Elle rolled off of Morgan.
"Uh… what just happened?"
"Nobody ever give you that talk, Greenaway?"
"What did you think?"
"Want the brutal truth?"
"I think I'd rather make-out with Gideon than repeat that particular experience."
A look of relief spread over Morgan's face. "
"Thank God. I feel like I just kissed my sister!"
"I think I'd rather kiss your sister."
He laughed at her sarcasm, and they stumbled to their feet, using the bar for support. Morgan slung an arm around Elle to try and gain his balance.
"Alright, let's get you home my Tequila Princess."
"You had better be talking to yourself. Or I will bust your balls for the next decade."
He snickered. The world was back to normal.