Jessica was cutting it close, dangerously close, to midnight. And a large part of her still hadn't quite figured out exactly what happened when she suddenly burst out of celebrations with the RPD crew, a hasty 'I'm sorry, I've got to go' slipping from her lips as she quickly left the building, trying to hail a taxi and send a text message at the same time. She'd been nursing her drink. She'd been smiling and laughing along with her coworkers' jokes. She'd been having the time of her life, when it suddenly hit her; this is ridiculously fun, but this isn't where I'm supposed to be right now. As if supposed to was even a real thing in this situation.
It was an instinct that she went with, anyway. Halfway across town, what she finally sent Randy was this: Hey, I'm coming over. I'm letting myself in. xx
There was too much traffic. The cab moved too slowly. Everybody should have known better than to try to get anywhere this close to the new year, and yet nobody, it seemed, did. When she finally got close enough to make it on foot the last distance, Jessica promptly paid the cab driver and rushed out into the street, heels hitting the pavement as she half-jogged, half-ran, until she reached the familiar building.
Slipping her key into the lock--she had a key, she was still adjusting to that, but she certainly loved using it--the redhead took careful steps through the door, ginger locks pinned to one side but slightly mussed up after her sprint down the street. "RB?" She dropped her keys into her purse, then dropped her purse onto the floor, then kicked her heels off and padded into the apartment. "I brought champagne! And plastic champagne glasses, because I'm pretty sure you don't have them, which is a travesty, by the way." As she reached the living room--bottle and disposable flutes in hand--the dark blue, silky, shiny dress she'd bought especially for the night caught the overhead light, shimmering under it. "Honestly, do I need to explain New Years Eve to you, too?"
Summary: Snapshots from Christmas in Los Angeles.
Features: Randy Boggs, Andrew West, Jocelyn West
It's late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve when they're speeding down the road on his motorcycle.
"I promise she'll be safe," Randy tries to reassure her father shortly before they leave the house. "I brought an extra helmet in case. And I won't go fast."
Captain Andrew West simply lets out a short 'hah' and gives the man a polite nod. "I appreciate that, but if I know my daughter correctly, she'll want you to go as fast as you can."
He might not know his daughter well, but he certainly does know that one aspect of her correctly. Literally the first word out of Jessica's mouth once they've cleared the driveway and are heading down the street together is this: Faster.
"Hold on tight," her friend replies with a smirk in his voice.
And then he goes faster.
Fifteen minutes later, the two of them have managed to come an impressively long way from the idyllic suburbia that she grew up in, cheating the incessant holiday traffic by weaving past cars in a zigzag pattern that sends dizzying thrills through her body. Meanwhile, the young officer tries very hard not to keep tabs on (or even think about) the exact amount of traffic violations they're shamelessly committing.
"You're on the bike with me," Randy calls out to her, joking in his terribly non-joking way, as if he can read her mind. "You can't arrest me."
Jessica laughs—a loud, vibrant, warm sound that leaves her lips and gets swept up into the wind roaring past them. "Wasn't going to," she responds with a grin.
To her great satisfaction, he seems to take that comment as a challenge, playfully accelerating even more until the city is nothing but a sparkling blur in her peripheral vision.
She holds on tighter, and squeals in delight.
----------
It's early in the morning on Christmas Day when she comes bursting into the guest room in full holiday get-up.
"Merry Christmas, RB!"
Jessica is already fully dressed and sporting a bright smile—ginger hair curled into perfectly round locks underneath a Santa hat, the skirt of her red, fifties-inspired dress swinging like a bell around her hips when she moves through the door. Excited and energetic, she is practically bouncing up and down in her spot, barely able to contain her enthusiasm.
The brown-haired figure hidden underneath the covers, on the other hand, only shifts slightly in bed and lets out a tired, exasperated groan. "Ugh. No. Why."
Of course, this only causes the redhead to launch forward and throw herself onto the bed next to him, the sheer force of her impact making them both bounce, to her great amusement. Randy simply hides his face in his pillow, shakes his head, and grumbles incoherently for a while.
She makes herself comfortable and waits. Happily. Patiently.
When he finally turns around and pulls himself up onto his elbows, still groggy, still sleepy, still grumpy, Jessica giggles at him and runs her fingers through his hair, fixing it to the best of her ability before proudly putting a set of reindeer antlers on his head. His gaze cuts toward her, the expression on his face incredibly sceptical and fairly unamused, but he doesn't try to remove them.
Satisfied, she gives him a quick peck on the cheek and hands him a cup of coffee as a reward.
Her mother's voice sounds from the kitchen. "JJ! Breakfast is ready!"
"Yeah, get down here already," her father chimes in. "And bring Motorcycle Boy with you!"
Jessica visibly cringes before turning to her friend and smiling apologetically. "Apparently, my dad gave you a nickname," she explains sheepishly, her inner voice immediately admonishing her in a 'duh, Captain Obvious' fashion. "To be honest, I'm not quite sure what that means, but I think he likes you."
Randy quirks an eyebrow. "You think?"
"I'm almost positive," she replies with a teasing smile. "Don't hold me to that, though."
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It's in the middle of the afternoon on Christmas Day when they're eating cheesecake with her father.
"So, Motorcycle Boy—"
"Dad," Jessica complains emphatically, dropping her fork to her plate in an aggravated clatter. "Seriously. I am not a teenager, we are not in high school, and it's not like I'm riding off into the sunset with some sketchy James Dean character. I'm an adult, who brought my adult friend home for Christmas." She sighs. "Can you please treat us as such?"
Captain West puts his fork down—calmly—and takes a measured breath. "JJ, I have no doubts whatsoever that Rebel Without A Cause here," he deadpans, gesturing toward Randy, "is a perfectly responsible adult. I was simply going to ask—
"You mean interrogate," she interjects.
"—him a few questions. As your father, I feel it is my right to wonder about—"
"You mean investigate.”
"—the kind of company you keep. That way, I'll know how to best approach—"
"You mean accuse."
"—him as a person. JJ, stop interrupting me."
In an ironic twist of fate, their conversation is promptly interrupted by his cellphone ringing.
"Work," her father explains curtly, once he's had a look at the screen. "Please excuse me." He stands up, gaze suddenly cutting back to Randy, as solemn and severe as they come. "Don't think we're even close to done here, son."
Jessica groans loudly and hides her face in her hands.
"I was a good kid, I never really rebelled in high school," she explains a few hours later, once daddy dearest has made it perfectly clear that he has no intention whatsoever of ever using Randy's real name. "He's not actually that overprotective. Honestly? I think he feels cheated out of the chance to use the whole cop card to intimidate all of the dates that I never had. And now he's making up for it. Big time."
She pauses, reaching for her friend's hand and squeezing it lightly. "Thanks for humouring him."
----------
It's late at night on Christmas Day when the sound system is playing Save The Last Dance For Me.
"Okay, put your hand on my waist... No, your other hand..."
They are standing in the middle of the living room, where Jessica is trying--emphasis on trying--to teach Randy how to dance. She has the biggest, brightest, goofiest smile on her face, which she is not even trying to contain. He, on the other hand, is spending most of the time staring down at his feet, grumbling, and looking a little confused.
But he goes along with it.
Which is... Kind of one of the greatest things about him, she thinks.
A while later, the two of them are moving, somewhat disjointedly, and somewhat out of rhythm, but they are moving, and what they are doing could definitely still qualify as dancing. "Now spin me out, and whatever you do, do not let go of my hand," Jessica instructs, giving him a small, teasing smile that recalls mental images of her slipping out of his grasp and almost crashing into the Christmas tree only moments earlier.
Randy follows her lead, and she spins, she twirls, red locks in a flurry as she closes her eyes and prepares herself, in case he accidentally sends her flying elsewhere. He doesn't. "Good. Now spin me back in. Gently."
This time, she honestly doesn’t know whose fault it is that she manages to trip and crash right into him, causing them both to almost stumble and fall onto the floor.
She braces herself against him and breaks out into a fit of giggles. He smiles and laughs to himself.
Then there is Captain Andrew West, who is gleefully filming it--the whole damn thing.
And honestly, Jessica does not know what to be more surprised by: the fact that her father is actively utilising and enjoying a present that she bought for him, or the fact that he is almost doubling over with laughter while doing so. Even Jocelyn—ever stoic, stone-faced, business-minded Agent West—manages a soft chuckle as she sips her eggnog.
Her parents are loyal, and generous, but serious people. They rarely smile. Let alone laugh.
Jessica's giggles subside as she finds her bearings, quickly pulling Randy back into their routine for the remainder of the song; but toward the last chorus, their movements have officially become more of a slow sway than a dance. But she doesn't mind. At all.
"You made my parents laugh,” she whispers into his ear, a smile in her voice. "That's impressive."
----------
It's very, very, very early in the morning on Boxing Day when they're sitting on the roof watching the sunrise.
They stay up late talking the night before. About her parents, about his parents, about their respective college years and how different, yet similar they were. Jessica doesn't mean to fall asleep in the guest room next to him, but when she suddenly shifts in bed and accidentally wakes them both up, she decides to make the best out of the situation. Randy, of course, does nothing but grumble as she drags him all the way up to the roof.
"This is my favourite place in the whole world," she explains ceremoniously as she takes a seat by the edge, gazing out over the view. But then she hesitates, stares down at her hands, and the excitement in her voice deflates. "I don't know. Whatever. It's probably not that fascinating. Just..." She shrugs. "I've never taken anyone up here before."
When Jessica finally glances over at him, there is an intense, unreadable look in his eyes. She has no idea what it means. But the complaining promptly stops after that.
She scoots closer to him, laces her arms around his, and drops her head onto his shoulder. And then they simply sit there together in a comfortable silence as soft colours and warm light slowly fill the sky. Which for Jessica is highly unusual, practically unheard of, and she is aware of that. But for once, words fail her.
Until they don't.
"Can I tell you something?"
He nods. She smiles.
"This is, without a doubt, the best Christmas I have ever had."
Jessica: It is now past midnight! Do you know what that means? IT MEANS THAT IT'S OFFICIALLY YOUR BIRTHDAY! [cake emoji] [confetti emoji] [present emoji]
Jessica: Text me when you and Archie wake up. I have a number of promises to make good on. [heart emoji]
Well, that session had been predictably depressing. He hated gyms, they felt restricting and oppressive. If he had to jog, he would rather look at trees than sweaty middle-aged men. But, that was where Maslowe had him doing him exercise so, red-faced and damp all over, he was stepping out of the shower not long after having said goodbye to him. Securing the towel around his waist with one hand, he opened his locker with the other, and only noticed the person next to him after he'd smacked him in the nose with the locker door.
"Shit, sorry," he cried, slamming it shut and looking at the man with worry. "Sorry, I didn't mean to, I didn't see you. Are you okay?"
