Work Text:
The smell of Reno's take-out noodles is making her want to puke.
Her mouth begins to water, and not in a good way, so she licks her lips and takes a breath. More greasy noodle stink.
"Don't bother trying to steal those," Reno smirks, nodding to his open noodle carton. "They're gone. Finito."
Thank the gods.
"Although I think Rude has a sandwich lying around somewhere. Try the fridge," Reno continues. "If you think your sneak skills are good enough to get past him. It's a bit risky if you ask me, though, eating a sandwich from that deli after—"
"I didn't 'steal' Rufus' fucking sandwich, ok? I picked up the wrong one from the delivery. By mistake."
It was a mistake. Kind of. Mostly.
"Uh huh, sure you did," Reno winks, and Elena feels her cheeks burn. "I think you just fancied yourself some gourmet chicken."
Elena doesn't think she'll ever look at chicken again for as long as she lives. Sometimes she thinks she can still taste it.
"But Elena did her duty exemplarily, Reno." Oh flipping fuck, why. Rufus clears his throat and enters the office. He turns to Elena and smiles that smug smile that makes her want to hit him. "If Elena hadn't stolen my sandwich, I would've spent two days in the clinic throwing up every internal organ because some terrorist posing as a delivery boy tried to poison me."
Elena gives him a sideways look and she can tell from the way his smile widens that he can see she thinks it's a pity they didn't succeed. Hypothetically, of course.
Tseng sighs. "We've caught the perpetrator and the case is closed. Perhaps it's time we all moved on?" Elena feels a twinge of guilt that Tseng is trying to ease her obvious embarrassment. She hasn't given him an easy time this week and yet he's still here for her. Sometimes she's not sure what she's done to deserve him.
Elena pushes herself up from her chair and crosses the office to the door. She can feel eyes on her, silently disapproving, but screw it.
They don't know how it feels.
She continues past the lodge's deserted reception area and out into the fresh breeze. The sky is a thick but bright, cloudy grey. Her hands grip the wooden railings, she closes her eyes and breathes.
The nausea starts to ease. She puffs out another breath and runs a hand through her hair that's blown into her face. At this point, she doesn't know if she feels sick from hunger or whether it's the hangover from the poison. It's been days. Almost a week. But she supposes these things take time.
"Let me take you home." Tseng's voice comes from behind her. She didn't even hear the door.
"I'm fine," she says. She doesn't know why that feels like a lie. She hasn't thrown up or anything. Not since the forty-eight hours where she did nothing but.
She won't be switching careers to a food taster any time soon, that's for sure. It wouldn't surprise her if she found that Rufus had added it to her job description, though. She's shot herself in the foot in more ways than one.
"You left home early to avoid breakfast this morning," he says, moving to stand beside her.
"I wanted to get an early start on—"
"And it's almost three p.m. and you haven't eaten lunch," he continues. Damn him. "This has to stop. You've barely eaten a proper meal since…"
"Since I pinched Rufus' sandwich and lived to regret it?" she finishes for him. He casts her a look, that unamused-raised-eyebrow look that he wears so well, and she looks away. "And I have eaten."
"Half a snack bar here and there doesn't count."
Is there anything he doesn't notice? Well, he's not a Turk for nothing. It's hard enough working with three of them, let alone dating one. At least she can be certain that no one's laced an unopened snack bar with anything dodgy. But that's a poor excuse.
"Dinner," he says, like it's a command. "My place, tonight." It is a command.
When she doesn't say anything, he moves to lean back against the railings beside her, facing towards the lodge. His sleeve is touching hers and he lowers his hand between their bodies, slowly, without looking at her. If anyone looked out of the window, they'd see the Turk director and his partner having an idle conversation in the breeze. They're both skilled at giving that impression by now.
"You do remember what dinner is, don't you?" There's a warmth in his voice. He's trying to be funny, and he's sort of succeeding. Elena has to work to hide a smile.
Warm fingers brush hers, his knuckles grazing her thigh as his hand blindly searches. His tone might be mischievous but his touch is serious. He's worried, and not very good at hiding it. She doesn't take that for granted.
She tries to swallow the lump in her throat.
"You'll have to remind me," she says.
His fingers squeeze. "Challenge accepted."
Tseng pushes away from the railings and her gaze follows him, his dark silhouette, with his perfect hair resting over his perfect shoulders, disappearing into the lodge without a backwards glance.
Elena sighs and turns her head to face the tree-lined cliffs once more. She's lucky, very lucky, to have him as her someone. She hopes she won't disappoint him.
When nine p.m. comes and goes, Tseng isn't entirely surprised. He's prepared for it, even. Elena has been avoiding him—mealtimes—all week, and this one is clearly no different.
He'd be lying if he said he didn't hope tonight would be different. He catches himself before he can go there, though. This isn't about him and it's not personal. As much as every minute that ticks by is torture.
He takes a breath. For maybe the hundredth time that evening. Glances at his phone in case he's somehow missed a message despite that the volume is on maximum and he hasn't let it out of his sight all evening. Nothing. She can try to make excuses about working late but they both know he's been diverting her workload since she came back to work a couple of days ago.
It's easy to feel angry or frustrated now, though; easy to think she's just being difficult and pushing him away. He spent Monday night in one of the med clinic's very unorthopaedic plastic chairs, not entirely convinced that the doctors were right when they said the dose was non-lethal.
Waiting for her now should, in theory, be a lot less stressful. In theory.
She'll come eventually. She has a key, and so far she's spent every night here since the clinic released her. He's let her think that he's asleep when she's slipped into bed beside him. He rolls over and holds her close but says nothing, and she seems to appreciate it. They both know he's not asleep.
She's probably planning on doing the same tonight and part of him wonders whether he should indulge her, not quite having the heart to make her face up to things if she's not ready. But sometimes, the easy choices only make life harder.
He wants to make life easier for her.
Tseng eyes the black, silk blindfold on the dining table. Shiva, he hopes he's doing the right thing.
Elena doesn't know why she does this. Good things come into her life, like Tseng, and she somehow finds ways to screw them up.
She slides her key into the lock, trying to be quiet but knowing there's no point. She's late, too late for dinner, but not that late. He'll still be awake. And that's a good thing because it means she can apologise. Without eating dinner.
That can work for both of them, right?
She takes a breath and turns the key. The hallway is dark but there's a light coming from the open-plan living area. Maybe he has gone to bed and left a light on for her? Her mouth feels dry with guilt.
She slips out of her shoes and pads towards the warm light, which, as it turns out, is coming from the kitchen, those fancy little downlighters under the slick kitchen cabinets. Edge twinkles beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass that borders the dining room and lounge. There's the subtle smell of spice in the air, that seasoning Tseng uses when he makes seared beef, and for the first time in what seems like forever, her stomach tugs with hunger. And then with more guilt.
He made her favourite meal and she didn't even have the guts to tell him she'd be late. She wrote and rewrote a text about a million times, but how the hell do you say that you're going to be late because you plan to be late but it's not him you're avoiding, just dinner because food is… stressful. She couldn't, not without sounding like a triggered, traumatised snowflake.
There's a movement behind her and hands settle on her shoulders, gently. Tseng's woody cologne wafts as his hair brushes her cheek and his lips graze her skin in a gentle kiss.
"Sit," he says. His voice is gentle, like his touch.
She wants to sink into his embrace, it feels so good to just be held, but—
"Just sit," he says, like somehow he felt the apologies and excuses rising in her throat. "Don't worry about the rest."
He guides her closer to the dining table with a hand at the small of her back, and pulls out a chair. The table is clear, so she's not entirely sure what he's up to, but she senses he has a plan.
She sits.
He crouches beside her, hands taking hers in her lap, thumbs rubbing small circles on her skin. He looks up at her. "Do you trust me?"
"Tseng, I—"
He squeezes her hands. "Do you trust me, Elena?"
"You know I do," she says quietly, looking down at him. She doesn't know if she's ever trusted anyone the way she trusts him. She's certainly never been vulnerable with anyone the way she is with him. "With my life."
He smiles up at her, lifting one hand to her cheek. His eyes are warm but sad somewhere, and she doesn't like the thought that he's sad because of her.
"Then," he says, something about the nnn sending a shiver down her spine. There's a glint in his eye now.
"Then what?" she smiles, watching him. He slides his hands down to her knees and stands, reaching for something that she can't see.
"You'll see." He's behind her now. "Or not, depending on how you look at it."
Elena opens her mouth to ask when the room goes dark, something soft and silky covering her eyes. She lifts her hands, running her fingers over the blindfold that he's fastening at the back of her head.
Well. This isn't what she was expecting. No, this is better than what she was expecting. Much, much better. She's aware she's grinning.
"What are you doing?" It's probably pointless to ask but, for as much as she's kind of excited, she wants to know what he's up to.
"You'll see." Oh, he's smug now. He probably thinks he's got the upper hand, and he kind of has, for now. "Stay there, and don't take it off."
"What are you—never mind." She'll find out soon enough, and the more she asks, the more smug he'll be.
She listens carefully as he moves away, towards the kitchen. She relaxes into the dining chair a bit, more aware of how it feels against her body now that she can't see anything. There's the sound of the cutlery drawer, a cupboard opening and closing, Tseng's footsteps moving back and forth.
He puts something on the table, his shirt rustling as he arranges things. She wants to know what things but knows better than to ask at this point. It gives her a buzz, realising that he's planned all of this meticulously. And inspite of her attempts to derail it.
"I'm sorry," she says. She'd rather get this out of the way now so they can actually enjoy whatever it is he has planned. The fact that she's even contemplating enjoyment is already a major improvement. And it's him she has to thank.
"You don't need to apologise," he says, still moving around.
"I do," she nods, her head turning to follow the sound of his voice. It's weird, talking like this, unable to see him.
"After what happened, I really don't blame you." His voice is closer. There's the sound of the chair beside hers being moved, a little rush of air and more rustling fabric. Something hard touches her knee; his knee. He's sitting in the chair beside her, probably facing her, at least partially. She smiles, glad that he's close like this and not across the table.
"It's stupid," she says. There's this urge to explain. "I just… I can't really stomach the sight of food after I… you know."
"Stole Rufus' sandwich?"
She'd give him a look if she wasn't blindfolded. She aims for his shin instead, but he somehow catches her ankle and entwines his leg with hers.
"I know," he says, suddenly serious. "Hence I thought…" Something clinks, like a chopstick on a bowl. "… You could eat dinner without looking at it."
She doesn't know how he thinks of these things.
"Ready?" he asks. She nods, and hesitantly opens her mouth.
She was right about the chopsticks. And her favourite beef. It's cold now, but the meat is succulently rare and seasoned, and they both know she likes it better that way. Her mouth waters almost painfully as she chews, the flavours even better than she remembers. Whoever said hunger was the best seasoning was right.
"Good?" he asks. There's a note of uncertainty in his voice.
"Fucking divine," she says, swallowing.
"Not just divine?" She can hear the warmth of his inevitable smirk. Her cheeks prickle but she nods with a little laugh.
"Divine is good," she says. She licks her lips. "Fucking divine is better."
Tseng leans in close, one hand on her thigh. She can smell the beef on his breath and she's glad he's eating with her. "Mmhmm," he hums. She takes her chance, reaching for where she thinks his face is, fumbling with his hair and an ear before pressing her hands to his cheeks.
Elena half pulls him, half leans forward, stealing a kiss that's slow but hungry. He kisses her back, his tongue tracing her lips before meeting hers. There's a hunger from him too, but also relief.
Elena lets go of him just long enough to shrug her jacket off. His hands are at her tie, pulling it out of her collar. She reclaims his face in her hands, kissing him harder.
"You're not going to distract me out of dinner, you know," he says, his voice lower than it was before. Elena giggles and plants a little kiss at one corner of his mouth, then the other, beginning a trail down his neck.
"It's not like we have to worry about it getting cold," she tries, between kisses.
His breath catches his teeth. "Actually, we do," he says, breathlessly. "I have plans for dessert."
"Oh?" she smiles. Damn, it's a sod that she can't see him.
"You'll have to wait and see," he says, sitting back for a moment before leaning in again. He delivers another mouthful of beef each. Elena smirks as she chews, her fingers finding his thigh.
"Maybe," she says after swallowing, "I can tempt you to a post-dessert…" Her fingers move to her shirt, undoing one button, then another. "… Dessert."
He approaches again, and this time it's a bite of some pickled vegetables. "Maybe," he replies. She moves her face forward, still savouring her last mouthful, but she can't reach him.
Gods, he is a tease.
Elena tugs her shirt from her waistband and strips it off, dropping it ceremoniously to one side. Tseng clears his throat and she knows she has him.
He feeds her another mouthful, lingering over her lips this time, making her reach for it. So, he wants to play dirty, does he?
She crosses her arms over her chest, fingers slipping under the band of her sports crop, and hesitates. She can't see him but she knows he's watching. Nothing escapes his attention. She lifts her bra clean over her head, lets it dangle for a moment, and then drops it. The air is a little cool over her bare breasts, but she's more than warm enough.
Silence.
She hears him swallow. "Shall we move on to dessert?" he asks casually.
Elena hums a laugh. Progress. "I can't wait."
A movement, and he's close again. He brings something to her lips, warm and gloopy. She can smell strawberries. She opens her mouth and realises what it is; a strawberry dipped in melted chocolate. His fingers linger on her lower lip as she takes a bite, and she sucks melted chocolate from their tips.
So maybe dessert was worth holding out for after all.
"To your satisfaction, ma'am?"
"Hmm, let me try another one and I'll let you know," she says, trying to sound discerning but it slips out with a giggle.
She should feel ridiculous, sitting topless and blindfolded at Tseng's dining table. Instead, it just feels exhilarating.
He feeds her another strawberry, leaving her his thumb this time. Just as she's savouring the juicy sweetness and warm, rich chocolate, his tongue at her left breast makes her gasp. "Nnngh, Tseng—"
"… Yes?" His voice is low and slow, in a did-you-want-something? kind of way. His tongue swirls around her nipple and he sucks it in a drawn out kiss. It sends a spark straight down her core and she laces her fingers into his hair.
"Mmm, nothing," she breathes, tilting her head back, when he shifts, taking her face in his hands and kissing her, his tongue licking the last of the chocolate from her lips. One of his hands moves to the back of her head, releasing the blindfold and coaxing it from her eyes.
His face is flushed, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with desire. He touches his forehead to hers.
"Thank you," she whispers. "For this."
He blinks slowly and smiles. "It's all… part of the service."
Elena slaps him playfully on the shoulder. He can try to downplay the relief she can see in his face. The truth is, if she doesn't downplay it too, she'll do something inappropriate like tear up at how lucky she is to have a love like this.
She reaches past him to the bowl of strawberries near his elbow, taking one and dipping it in the bowl of melted chocolate beside it. She holds it between their faces, moving it towards him, only to touch it to his nose and pop it into her mouth.
"Mmm," she says, through a mouthful of strawberry, trying not to laugh at him. "These were definitely worth waiting for, by the way."
She blocks his hand before he can wipe his nose, kissing away the splodge of chocolate. When she picks up another strawberry, he eyes her sceptically, but she feeds it to him this time, scooting across from her own chair to sit in his lap.
Tseng closes his arms around her, chewing slowly. His shirtsleeves are crisp but warm against her back. He looks up at her, and she knows what he's thinking, but she wants to hear him say it.
"Is there something on your mind?" Her cheeks are starting to ache from smiling at him.
"I was thinking about that 'post-dessert dessert' you mentioned."
"Oh really?"
He smirks back at her, standing suddenly, bringing her with him. She wraps her legs around his waist as he shifts his grip, walking backwards towards the bedroom.
She laughs. "This dessert is definitely best served hot."