Summary: Lucy’s heading home for Christmas and a little white lie means she needs a plus one. Could that plus one be everything she has been looking for?
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: NCIS: Hawai'i
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Lucy Tara/Kate Whistler
Characters: Kate Whistler, Lucy Tara, Kai Holman, Jesse Boone, Ernie Malik, Jane Tennant, Carla Chase
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, 5+1 Things, Getting Together
Series: Part 2 of The Dresses
Summary:
The first time Kate saw Lucy, she was wearing the yellow dress.
It was Tennant and Chase’s engagement party, held at Tennant's house, and almost everyone was dressed somewhere between casual and cocktail, except for Lucy, whose dress was floor length. Very literally floor length, since Lucy was wearing flats, so the black lace that ran along the bottom of the skirt was dragging along the wood floor as she grabbed food from the buffet in the kitchen.
Five times Kate saw Lucy in her yellow dress, and one time Lucy saw Kate in a yellow dress. A companion to The Dress set in an AU where Jim Carter is fired a lot later and Kate is already the FBI liaison when Lucy joins the team. My two hundredth fic!
Kacy fandom, someone has reposted Falling for the Taras on AO3. The original author took it down because they plagiarized me. This person is plagiarizing both the original author—and assuming they post the next chapters— me. Please do not kudos or read the fic. If you choose to do that, then please stop reading my stories and interacting with me. Getting plagiarized almost made me quit writing. Seeing this pop up again is bringing all of those terrible feelings back. Please don’t make it worse.
ETA: Please don’t comment on their other fic. Multiple people have reported it for plagiarism. All that’s left to do is wait for AO3 to act. Bombarding them with comments could cause problems for me cause brigading is bad. So I am NOT calling for that or condoning it.
ETA 2: I thought this would be obvious because FFTT is not the type of fic I’d ever write in a million years (I barely survived high school, willing revisiting it is a giant nope), but apparently not. So to clarify: the initial plagiarism wasn’t the entire fic. It was a specific chapter and then there were a few parts prior to that which subsequently look pretty damn bad once that major line was crossed with the full chapter.
I saw 15/15 and quickly made a pot of tea. Charging my phone to 100% now and expect a ping in your notifs as I enjoy the rest of this fic. Again. Thank you so so much @promsie 🫶 my weekend just got a lot better.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Brief dip into the NCIS: Hawaii space because my brain couldn't let go of the sibling dynamic between Jane and Kate. So here's 3k-ish words of them being kind to each other in the way they both need and deserve.
In which Kate worries that she's going to mess things up with Lucy, and Jane's there to remind her that she's loved (and also to feed her).
Read below or on AO3.
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The bowl Jane hands her is warm and smells of bacon, obvious and unexpected enough that Kate immediately raises her eyebrows, finding Jane’s eyes across the sofa on the lanai.
The grin she gets in return is one that’s becoming more familiar, mischievous and a little cheeky, notes of Noah that make her shoulders relax and her chest contract enough to require a conscious deep breath.
“A little indulgence for us. Organic, locally-raised, and absolutely delicious.”
Julie’s at art camp, and Alex is enduring Plebe Summer, so their bi-weekly beach morning has become a Monday, Wednesday, Friday affair this week. Kate’s not complaining. Her early mornings with Jane, the changes in her relationship with Jane generally, are a gift of Lucy’s absence, and one she intends to keep even now that Lucy's back.
“I won’t tell,” Kate promises, and presses her spoon into the soft-boiled egg, yellow spilling out over sautéed spinach and furikake and the fancy bacon. There’s a short glass of green smoothie on the table, too, and Kate will drink it because she should and because, despite Lucy’s incredulity, she does, in fact, like the taste, but she’s going to enjoy the perfectly cooked oatmeal first.
Jane reaches across to the table, sliding Kate’s favorite of the three hot sauces her way, and Kate picks it up with a smile, adds two generous shakes of red to her bowl.
“So,” Jane says, her bowl resting on its placemat while she holds her favorite blue and green ceramic coffee mug on her knee, legs curled up on the sofa, “What’s the book of the week?”
Kate, swallowing her first bite and the embarrassing noise of pleasure that threatens to emerge with it, stares down at her bowl for a second. “Nothing new this week.” She gathers another bite, taking the time to get a balance of things on her spoon, and adds, “This is amazing, by the way. Thank you.”
“Of course,” Jane says, but when Kate looks up, one eyebrow is raised and her lips are pursed in that way that lets Kate know she’s been caught. Having former CIA operatives as friends has its downsides.
Jane doesn’t push, trades her coffee for her oatmeal and busies herself with her own preferred hot sauce, waits Kate out. She doesn’t have to wait long.
“I haven’t had much time to read,” she blurts, body jolting forward just a little with the words. She feels awkward, which isn’t exactly unusual, but this is the kind of awkwardness she associates with her junior year of high school, trying to navigate her growth spurt and her parents’ pressure and her increasingly undeniable homosexuality.
“Oh?”
Jane’s tone is curious but she leaves Kate an out, almost always leaves Kate an out, and it’s another thing that makes Kate think of Noah, of the way he’d run basketball drills with her, knew instinctively when to be silent and when to give feedback and when to ask questions about her life without making her feel like she owed him an answer, never making her feel pressure to give more than she wanted to give.
She breathes out through another ache in her chest, forces herself to lean back and lets her body mirror Jane’s, pulling her legs up and making herself smaller, resting her bowl on her knee. Jane’s smile is gentle and Kate knows she doesn’t begrudge her the protection.
“I’ve…I’ve been a bit distracted. With Lucy.”
“ Oh ,” Jane says again, but this time she seems surprised, her lips shifting to almost…almost a smirk?
It takes Kate a second and then she feels heat flood her face. “Not like that,” she corrects with only a little bit too much force, and Jane reaches across to touch her leg briefly before focusing on her oatmeal and letting Kate recover.
She breathes out and sits her bowl on the table, wonders if this is something she really wants to talk about, something she really should talk about, with Jane who reminds her of her big brother but who is also her boss and her girlfriend’s boss and someone she wants very much to respect her.
But she has spent many mornings and many nights on this lanai with Jane at this point, has told her more about her life than almost anyone, really, and Jane has told her things, too. Early on they’d had a conversation, because they are alike in ways that Kate appreciates more than she can say, about boundaries and professionalism and friendship. Kate knows Jane would tell her immediately if she was crossing a line, understands that she respects Kate enough to do that quickly and clearly. She’s confident Jane knows the same.
It’s this that convinces her, and she breathes quickly from her nose before bringing her eyes back to Jane, who is waiting patiently and quietly.
“I’m worried that I’m going to fuck it up.”
Jane’s already soft posture softens further, her arm reaching across the back of the sofa toward Kate in a show of support that doesn’t force Kate to process physical contact. It’s conscious, in the way that basically everything Jane Tennant does is conscious, but that does not make it less impactful. It’s a show of care tailored to Kate, and she feels it in the way her calves relax. There are perks to former CIA operative friends as well.
Jane waits, and Kate bites her bottom lip, begins talking again at the small, encouraging tilt of Jane’s chin.
“Things are so good. Lucy is so good. She’s,” Kate bites her lip again, pushes back the little voice that tells her this is dangerous, wrong, unprofessional, queer , “she’s perfect. I’m so happy. So lucky.”
Jane’s smiling at her again, and she nods as Kate pauses, waits until it’s clear that Kate might need a second, and then says, “I’m so happy for you both. We all are. You know that, right? That we love you both?”
She does. Despite the insidious little whispers that warn her otherwise, she knows that the NCIS team is family, is her family, and that they love her not just because she loves Lucy but because of who she is on her own.
“I do.”
“Good,” Jane says, patting the top of Kate’s hand where she’s subconsciously stretched it in a mirror of Jane’s. The touch only lasts for a second, just long enough to be more comfort than distraction, and Kate feels her lips twitch into a half and then a full smile of gratitude. “So what’s scaring you?”
They know each other well enough now that she doesn’t push back at the phrasing, reads it as Jane’s confidence in her ability to see the words not as an insult but an insight, and one that’s exactly right.
“Me,” she says without hesitation. “I’ve never done this before, not in a way that matters, and I…” She clears her throat. “My parents’ relationship…” There’s no way for it to sound anything but harsh, but it’s true, and she doesn’t need to politic this. “It was about appearance and expediency. My brother, he was…he was kind and, and softer than either of them. He was tough, too.” Jane nods in understanding, and Kate pushes past the desire to defend him against an attack Jane would never level. “But he…Discipline and our grandfather’s chin were about the only things that made it clear we were raised in the same house. I never quite understood how he was who he was while I was…anything but myself.”
She regrets having put her bowl down, picks it back up and takes another bite. Puts it down again.
“I’m a lot like my father. He didn’t always…he wasn’t very good at emotions. At understanding emotions. His own or anyone else’s. I once heard his colleagues talking about him. They called him Doctor Robot, which was…well, it wasn’t wrong.”
She stops there, eyes on the cushion between them and Jane says softly, kindly, “You’re not a robot, Kate.”
“No,” she concedes, fingers flexing against the fabric of her leggings. “But I know what people think of me. I know I can appear…unyielding. Detached.” She raises her eyes and smiles to soften the blow. “Icy.”
Jane smiles back, the smile she uses with Julie and Alex, and Kate feels a swoop of affection in her stomach. “We didn’t know you.”
“I didn’t let you.”
“There’s a reason for that. We should have been kinder.”
“You’re kinder now.”
Jane hums and pointedly eyes Kate’s oatmeal and Kate rolls her eyes just enough for Jane to see, a little sister again. Still, she picks it back up, takes another bite.
“I’ve got Lucy.”
“You do. You’ve got all of us. I’m sorry it took as long as it did.” She holds a hand up when Kate begins to protest and it’s effective and doesn’t grate the way it would with nearly anyone else. “But Kate, being reserved doesn’t make you emotionally incompetent.” She leans forward just enough for Kate to notice, her arm inching closer along the back of the couch. “Thinking differently doesn’t either. And protecting yourself, having lived a life where you needed to protect yourself, doesn’t make you a bitch.” The word hits her with some force, and she’s blinking back tears, because she hadn’t said it, wouldn’t have said it, but she’d thought it plenty. Jane reaches across to the table and slides the tissues to her without comment before she continues. “Give yourself some credit. I love Lucy, and it’s easy to see the way that she loves you. But you’re the one who has let yourself be vulnerable here. That’s no small thing.”
The tiny scoff is reflexive, and her voice is raspier than she’d like as she says, “I shouldn’t have to work so hard to be a person. I certainly shouldn’t be praised for it.”
“Mmm.” Jane’s fingers tap along the cushion near Kate’s. “You know, there were years when Julie and Alex didn’t know me.”
Kate’s eyes snap from the tapping fingers to Jane’s face. She’s smiling still, easy, but her eyes have the same weight they do when a case gets particularly brutal or she’s telling a story about her past.
“I spent years learning how to read people, how to control myself, how to be exactly how I needed to be, who I needed to be, in any given situation. For a long time, that’s how I approached being a mother.” She tilts her head to the side for a moment, and shrugs one shoulder. “I didn’t have an example of what a mother should be, and I felt…confident, playing it like a role. Soft here, proud there, body language and tone exactly what they should be.” She pauses to grab her mug, takes a sip.
“There are much less thoughtful ways to be a mom,” Kate says, and means it, wishes that her own mother had given an ounce of that effort, even if she had been faking it.
Jane huffs a laugh. “That’s true. And I was a good mom. I cared for them and comforted them. They knew they were loved, and I thought that was good enough.
“But one day, in third grade, Alex came home with one of those “My mother is…” projects. He’d reached the age where it was more than just “favorite flower” and “favorite color” and insert this or that here. They were learning about paragraphs and themes and he was supposed to write about me, about who I was.” She smiles, rueful, and runs a thumb along the rim of her mug. “He had this list of questions, and about halfway through, I realized I was answering him the same way I would anyone on an assignment, charming and just personal enough to seem true. I’d known what I was doing, of course, but this hit me differently, because I understood in a way I hadn’t before that he was my son and he was asking me real questions, was old enough to ask me real questions, and I was treating him like…”
“Jane,” Kate says, and she’s reaching across now, fingertips on offer near Jane’s knee. Jane takes them and squeezes for a second before letting them go.
“It scared me so badly that I had to forcibly stop my body from shaking. When we finished, I took the hottest shower I could stand and cried harder than I had in a long time. I’d always loved them. More than anything. But I made a conscious effort after that to be different. To be myself . It took more work than I’d like to admit.”
The look she’s giving Kate is so understanding, so familiar, so full of care. Kate dips her head in acknowledgement and feels the kind of deep affection she’s come to associate with exactly two people in her life.
“It was instinct.”
“It was instinct,” Jane confirms. “It was safe .” She takes another sip. “I’m proud of the work I did to let my kids see me. To be vulnerable. To be human .” She squeezes Kate’s fingers again. “It isn’t easy.”
“It isn’t,” Kate says, horrified to find that her voice is raspy again. A million questions and fears overwhelm her, the same ones that have kept her staring at the same few pages of her book for the last week. What if I can’t keep it up? What if I’m like my dad? What if she wants me to be someone else? What if I have to be someone else to keep her?
“She loves you,” Jane’s voice cuts through the thoughts like a knife. “She loves you for who you are, Kate. Not in spite of it. And if you’re worried, you can talk to her about it.” She’s running her thumb over Kate’s knuckles. “I can guarantee you she wants to know as much as you want to share. So do I.” She squeezes Kate’s fingers before letting go and settling back against the sofa. Her voice is lighter as she adds, “But it’s a little different.”
“I want you to know.” The force of her voice surprises her, and she clears her throat and tries again, not quite meeting Jane’s eyes. “I mean thank you. For listening. And for being the kind of friend who makes me feel comfortable enough to talk.”
“Thank you for talking to me. I feel honored that you feel comfortable enough to share. You’re a remarkable person, Kate. I’m lucky to know you.”
It’s almost too much, her body caught on the precipice of emotional overload, and Jane, because she’s Jane, can tell, stands and squeezes Kate’s shoulder before moving toward the door.
“I’m going for more coffee. Don’t waste that bacon, please.”
“Honor the pig,” Kate says solemnly, and they both ignore the little shake in her voice.
“Honor the pig,” Jane echoes.
They both mean it more than a little, because Julie has passionately given them talks about the environment and the feelings and intelligence of animals, especially pigs, and she’s a very convincing oralist. Kate has told her more than once that she’d do well in law school.
The rest of their breakfast conversation is lighter, Kate recounting some reality tv drama and Jane offering a new salmon recipe she’d found. Before she leaves, though, Kate grabs one of Jane’s wrists.
“Thank you.” She looks at Jane’s feet, toes peeking out from her house shoes, before forcing herself to look her in the face again. “I feel lucky to know you, too.” She wants to say the words, feels them caught in her throat, and Jane’s smile, her quiet patience, sets them free. “You remind me of Noah, and I…Well, I…” She shakes her head and shrugs and Jane’s looking at her the same way she had on the porch, so clearly fond that Kate can hardly take it, can almost feel Noah in the room with them. “Thank you,” she says, hoping it’s enough, and the brief squeeze to her bicep, the fleeting kiss to her cheek, make her think that it is.
“Anytime.” She reaches for a thermos and hands it to Kate. “Your smoothie.”
“Oh! Thank you!”
“You are the only one in my house who gets that excited for my green smoothie.”
“I shouldn’t be. It’s so much better than the one from Aloha.”
“Flatterer.” She gestures toward the door. “I’ve kept you too long.”
Kate doesn’t argue, although she wants to, because they both know it’s Kate’s fault she’s running late. Instead she gathers her bag and the smoothie and slips her sandals on before heading out the door. She dials Lucy’s number from the car, smiling at the drowsy greeting that confirms that she had, in fact, snoozed her alarm again, and thinks maybe she’ll actually be able to finish her book tonight.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Moving to Hawai’i was an adventure, becoming an NCIS agent was an adventure, taking a gamble and chatting up a gorgeous woman in a bar and taking her home for three days solid all those years ago was an adventure, but none of the highs of those adrenaline rushes compare to this kind of easy routine, to life with Kate. Lucy’s always had a yearning for the simple things, for someone who’s just as happy to sit with her tangled up on the couch as they would be seeing the world together, for someone who loves her for her.
