#ficvent2017

From the look on her face as she takes another easy lap around the rink he guesses she knows that already.

When she reaches him again she stops abruptly and fixes him with a no-nonsense stare.

“If you won’t tell me how long you’ve been watching me, Hockey,” -- she puts special emphasis on the nickname this time, nodding at his skates with their thick sturdy blades -- “Can you at least tell me why you’ve been watching me?”

She looks him in the eye, expectantly, arms folded tightly in front of her.

“Um...” Gendry says, like the idiot he is. He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I, uh. I don’t know quite how to explain it...”

“I don’t think you’re a creep, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she says quickly. His eyes snap to hers and relief washes over him when he sees she means it. “You don’t look like the kind of person who just comes to the rink to ogle the girls in their costumes. And I mean, you’re here almost as much as I am these days. And you’re actually skating. You obviously you have a legit reason to be here.”  

He nods vigorously. “Oh yeah, I do have a legit reason to be here. I swear.”

“Good,” she says. “I mean, I figured. But thanks for confirming.”

He swallows. Nods. “Yeah. I, uh... I play hockey. I’m a... hockey player. Recreational league.” He smiles sheepishly at her. “You’ve probably already guessed the hockey part, though. From my... you know. From my skates. And otherwise I don’t know why you’d be calling me Hockey.”

She looks down at his skates again, then back up at his face. The right side of her mouth quirks up into a half-smile. “Yeah, I kind of already have guessed the hockey part,” she agrees.

“Right,” he continues. “Well, I’m here because my coach says I need to work on my speed. Regionals are next month, and it’s the only thing holding me back. My speed, I mean.” He shakes his head. “I’m a great shot, but I’m kind of slower on skates than I should be at my level.”

Her eyes narrow a little. “I see.”

He nods again. “So, I’ve been coming here to practice speed drills before work every morning. And... well... you’ve been here, too. Every time.”

She nods. “I have been,” she agrees. “And so you’ve been watching me skate today instead of working on your speed because... I’m here?”

He shakes his head, eyes wide. “Oh, no. No. Not just because you’re here. I’ve been watching you skate because you’re --”

He pauses. He bites his lip.

Because you’re the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen move over ice, he thinks, but does not say. Because you’re mesmerizing, and ferocious, when you skate the way you do. And, if I’m being honest, I also think you’re kind of ridiculously gorgeous.

“-- because you’re really fast on your feet,” he finishes lamely, the words coming out in a jumble in their haste to leave his mouth. He coughs into his hand, and looks away again when he starts to feel his cheeks grow hot. “I think could learn a lot from you.”

The girl doesn’t say anything in response to this pathetic half-explanation for a very long time. She merely looks him over, from head to toe, and then back up again, as though apprising a difficult project and estimating how long it might take her to finish it.

Finally, after what feels like several lifetimes, she nods a little, and extends her hand to him.

“I’m Arya,” she says. “Arya Stark. My own regionals are in two weeks so I won’t have lots of time to work with you. But, you know.” She shrugs. “We’ll see what we can get done in two weeks.”

Gendry gulps. “What are you talking about?”

She rolls her eyes. “Do you want to skate faster or don’t you?”

“Um.” He licks his lips. “Yeah. Yeah. Of course I do.”

“Okay then,” she huffs. She sticks out her hand farther towards him. As though in a dream, Gendry slowly reaches out his own hand and tentatively takes hers.

It’s so tiny, he marvels.

For one mad instant he wonders what the hell she wants him to do with her hand, exactly, but she answers the question for him by pumping his up and down in a very business-like shake.

“What you’ve been doing on the ice this past week won’t get you where you want to be, Hockey,” she tells him, still shaking his hand. “But I can get you there.”

“Oh. You.. uh... you don’t think what I’ve been doing will work?” Then a thought occurs to him. “Wait. How do you know what I’ve been doing all week?” he asks. “Have you been watching me, too?”

Gendry regards her hopefully and waits for an answer. She doesn’t give one. Other than a small, nearly imperceptible quirk of her right eyebrow her face gives nothing away.

He sighs, and decides to give up. “So you’ll... work with me?” he asks. He prays to whatever god that might be listening that his voice isn’t shaking too badly. “You’ll help me get faster?”

Arya shrugs. “I mean... sure. I guess,” she says.  “I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning at 6 a.m. But you need to tell me your name first.”

He blinks at her, confused. Oh, right. She doesn’t know his name yet. “Oh, yeah. I’m Gendry. Gendry Waters.”

She smiles at him, then. The first real smile she’s ever given him. It makes his stomach flip, the way she looks when she’s smiling at him, and that won’t do at all if they’re going to be working together.

He forces himself to think about something -- anything -- other than the way Arya Stark is looking at him right now.

“Nice to meet you, Gendry,” she says, her voice all business again. “I’ll see you tomorrow at 6.”

“Oh,” she says after a long pause. Her cheeks have gone nearly as pink as the pretty sweater she’s wearing tonight. (It hugs her slender curves everywhere Cassian longs to touch her, that sweater. But he can’t let himself think about that right now.) “When Bodhi invited us to his Christmas party I didn’t think he was going to… you know.”

Jyn shrugs, and gestures vaguely around Bodhi’s garishly decorated apartment.

Cassian nods, understanding. “Right. Going the whole nine yards with decorating, or… whatever this is.” He tries to laugh but all that comes out is an odd, strangled noise. “It’s, um. Not really Bodhi’s style, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” she agrees quickly. Even though they both know perfectly well that doing something just like this – throwing a Christmas party chock full of corny decorations, with mistletoe hanging from just about every doorframe – is exactly Bodhi’s style.

When Jyn begins to study her fingernails but neither says anything else or moves away from the mistletoe, Cassian watches her carefully, trying to work out from her expression whether she thinks this unexpected development is a good surprise or a bad surprise. 

Does she… want him to kiss her? She’s kind of been acting like she does, laughing at his stupid jokes and making sure he’s been within arm’s reach most of the night. 

Then again, he’s known her for six months now. They’ve been best friends for the past two. Surely she would have done something by now if she were interested in him like that. Wouldn’t she? Jyn isn’t one to mince words or act shy when there’s something she wants. 

Cassian tries to tune out the rest of the party, the odd look Jyn’s giving him right now – everything around them – as he tries feverishly to make up his mind.

“Well…” he says eventually. He nods, deciding that caution is, in situations like these, usually the best course of action. He chuckles a little, hating how nervous it makes him sound.  .  “I guess now we know Bodhi likes Christmas decorations more than anyone we –” 

Jyn cuts him off by grabbing him, hard, by the lapels of his green collared shirt, and pulling him down into a decisive kiss. It’s awkward and sudden, and not at all graceful, with noses bumping and knees knocking together.  But it doesn’t take long for Cassian to close his eyes, wrap his arms around Jyn, and sink into what he’s been wanting for so long.

Somewhere off in the distance he thinks he can hear Baze and Chirrut cheering. He pays them no mind. 

“Mmm,” Jyn says after a long moment, pulling away. “So. What was it you were saying about Bodhi?” Her words are little puffs of air against his lips, and he laughs breathlessly.

“Nothing,” Cassian says. He smiles sheepishly at her, and rests his forehead against hers. He closes his eyes. “Nothing whatsoever.” 

The Doctor shoves his hands into his trouser pockets and preens like an idiot, reflexively, not knowing what else to do and still getting used to this strange new body of his. He smiles back at her before he realizes he’s doing it, the strange, bubbly sensation rising up in his chest at once so intoxicating and glorious it takes all his formidable self-restraint not to throw himself at her feet on the spot.

“Sit next to me?” she asks. Shy, but insistent. His Rose. (Does he dare think of her as his?)

She pats the seat next to hers. He complies wordlessly, immediately.

He marvels, and not for the first time, at how eager this new incarnation is to please her.

(He decides to shove aside – just for now; just for tonight – the nagging worry that his unflagging devotion to Rose Tyler will one day lead to ruin. Because tonight is Christmas. A time for joy, for hope. For new beginnings. There will be more than adequate time for worry tomorrow.)

Once he’s joined her at the table Rose wastes no time, quickly tugging his hand onto her lap and stroking the back of it gently with her thumb, and then he really does stop breathing.

Later, the Doctor watches Rose pull her Christmas cracker apart, his eyes filled with stars as her tongue-touched smile lights up the room. 

And he watches her later still, after the news report about Harriet Jones, when they’re standing outside the TARDIS under a blanket of falling ash. (She still wants to travel with him. Will wonders never cease? He, of course, would love for her to come. Will always want her to come.) Her hand rests on his arm and their heads are inclined together, close, as he points out the stars and their next destination with an outstretched arm he hopes isn’t shaking too badly from nerves.

Rose is smiling at him again. Her smile is infectious – just like her laughter; her spirit; her faith in him. He pulls her in closer, until he can feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek. 

He sits down beside her on the narrow bed, thebony crest of his hip pressing up against her side.

“Don’t you have someplace you need to be?” she asks. Because he must. A glance at the clock tells her he’s been back from hismission less than two hours. Draven must be chomping at the bit to get him intothe debriefing room.

“I do,” Cassian agrees. He takes her hand inhis, and she shivers at the sensation of his too-cool fingers interlacing withhers. “It’s right here.”

Jyn doesn’t have the strength to argue thepoint further, and she groans miserably in spite of herself.

“Oh, Jyn.” Cassian stretches out on the bed and wraps his arms around her.  Only when she buries her face in his neck does she feel his body begin to relax.

He chuckles softly. “I’lladmit this is not the post-mission reunion I’d hoped for,” he murmurs, tuckingan errant lock of her hair behind her ear.  “But I’m here.”

Jyn mumbles something incoherent in responseand is asleep again in seconds.