Starring:
Summary: Mariska experiences her first Christmas in the good ol' US-of-A. Soppy marital buffoonery ensues. (Be sure to brush your teeth after reading — it's sugary.)
Date It Happened: December 25th, 2007
An American Christmas
Queens, NYC - Felix's Apartment
The apartment is teeny, really. So no tree, save for a rosemary plant which fills the kitchen with a pleasant herbal scent, and is hung with tiny gold and silver and scarlet balls, basically almost beads. And a couple of miniature roses, one red, one white, in the kitchen window. But the coffee table has a pile of gifts on it, on Christmas morning. Because Mr. Stealthy FBI agent snuck them out of where he'd hidden them - presumably in his sock drawer, most of it. Though one box has been lurking at the back of his half of the closet. He himself is in his striped flannel robe over t-shirt and boxers, cups of coffee brewed and ready for her, before he wakes her up with a coffee-scented kiss. So much for sleeping in.
There are worse ways to be woken up. Mariska murmurs something softly inaudible but there's a smile spreading over her lips, painting in pink watercolor, and when she finally consents to open her eyes she does so peacefully. «Merry Christmas,» she says before extending an arm that might allow her hand to latch onto a lapel or some piece of him within reach in order to bid him gently back into bed with her. Laaaaazy.
Felix puts the coffee on the nightstand part of the headboard, and lets himself be tugged back into bed. But the usual flying clothes and rumpled bedcovers don't ensue. Not yet, anyhow. "Santa's been and gone, come see," he murmurs against the skin of her throat. God, she smells good.
Even if one hip is hitched up in order to twine her pajama'd leg over his robed thigh, her intention isn't to initiate a lascivious encounter but rather to just keep him close to her for that much longer. Both athletic arms flex as far over her head as they can reach while ribs reveal themselves beneath the errant hem of her sleep shirt when she stretches. She then collapses into an impromptu embrace and nuzzles against what scant morning stubble Felix can manage to muster without complaint. «Did he…? Did he bring anything… big?» That may or may not be innuendo.
It's not much, happily. Fel is really… unhirsute for a guy, though there is the faint prickle on his chin. «There's a big box out there,» he cajoles, as he snuggles up to her, setting his head on her shoulder.
A series of sweet butterfly kisses find their way across Felix's forehead as Mariska tucks in her chin and gently nudges him back briefly back into a posture that's a little more eye to eye in order to deliver a second Christmas kiss before rolling back over to her side of the bed and finding her feet at the edge. «Is it bigger than a breadbox?» she asks while tucking her toes into a pair of waiting slippers. Then, at last, she frees herself fully from the bed and claims her own robe, last discarded carefully over the arm of the comfy chair next to the armoire that's seen better days.
«Yes,» he says, enthusiastically, sitting up once she's detached herself. He looks amused, and years younger, eyeing her sidelong with a rather impish expression. And then he reaches over with a bare foot to nudge at her hip, as if trying to hurry her along. «I mean, some of it is,» he adds, trying to look sage, and failing.
The playful swipe that she sends his way, meant to ward off poking and impatient toes, must have been a warning shot as it swings wide of its target. Indeed, such encouragement cannot be denied, or so her eyebrow uplifted expression suggests. Misha tosses him a headstart look and then introduces a little skip into her step before shuffling hurriedly out into the hardwood hallway. She practically bursts into a blistering speed-walk to make it into the living room before he's had a chance to round the corner of the bedroom door, but she pauses purposefully to wait for him there before charging headlong into the kitchen to see what gifts there be beneath the makeshift rosemary Christmas tree.
There are tiny packages beneath the tiny faux tree, wrapped in bright red striped paper. The bigger packages are on the coffee table in the living room. "You can open those first," he says, scuffing in in his own grey slippers, coffee in hand, before handing her a cup of her own. He plops down on one of the dinette chairs, gaze darting from her face to the presents and back.
The coffee cup is gratefully accepted and immediately sampled, with her lips still hung over the rim while she remains where she is and indicates the wee packages beneath the herbal tree. «Those?» she asks, as if uncertain, though there's still that sweet and sleepy smile strung over her lips in lieu of a confused expression.
Felix bobs his head at her like an eager pigeon. «Yes, those,» he affirms, before flashing one of those dazzling, too-broad grins. «Open one,» he says, bouncing a little on his seat with impatience.
This reaction provokes a bemused chuckle and she inches a little closer to the rosemary tree before, again, indicating the red-striped paper parcels underneath, as if still unsure. Mariska introduces her coffee cup to the countertop politely and then picks up one of the tiny presents and gives it a tentative shake to see what sort of noise it might make. What a tease!
Not a sound. It's a little cubic object. He gives her a pleading look. "C'mon, open it," he pleads, in English, this time.
«Is it a puppy?» she taunts, laying a finger against her lower lip as if to strike a thoughtful pose. Play. It's all play. Finally… finally… she make murmurs of unwrapping it, going slowly at first — perhaps she intends to save the wrapping paper? — before clawing and scraping and hurrying to get the little bit open and see what might be inside.
Fel himself is a very much a 'shred it off' sort of boy. Take that was you will, of course. It's the little velvety sort of box that fine jewelry comes in. It proves to be an alexandrite pendant - a stone set in white gold on a matching chain, and a mate to her engagement ring. He's all but wagging his tail as she opens it. The cats come slinking in to examine the bits of shredded paper.
The payoff? «It's beautiful.» Congratulations! You've just won a genuinely surprised look and an impossibly wide smile as well as another coffee-flavored kiss. As with most Christmas morning jewelry gifts, the pendant is pulled from its box and almost immediately hung around her neck so that she might be able to properly display just how much she appreciates it and show it off to the cats. Of course, a plain white jersey tee and a pair of heather gray pajama pants accompanied by an open pink satin robe probably isn't the intended attire for such a piece but she pulls it off surprisingly well.
Felix grins at her, that satisfied hound grin. «I thought you'd like it,» He admires her, as he should. "It suits you," he adds, darting back to English. "There's more, you know," he notes, all but sidling towards the little rosemary tree. There's another little box in the same vein beneath.
The next wee gift isn't given nearly so much foreplay nor treated anything so gently as the last. Now that the noise of torn paper has infected her ears, Mariska's communist blood has begun to run rampant with capitalist Christmas spirit. She's fast beneath the wrapping on this one and scrambling to lift the lid.
It's a pair of earrings, part of the same set. Fel's a completist nut, apparently. He eyes her sidelong, awaiting her approval. Not that he's uncertain, but.
Sure enough, following suit, Misha's ears are soon studded with bling and Felix is being thanked in kisses twice over — once for each earring. She then withdraws and makes eyes at her man, reclaiming her coffee and minding him over the brim, all smiles and no complaints. With the bounty beneath the beaded rosemary tree depleted, she casts a look into the living room and then gestures with her chin. Shell we?
Felix nods, with that puppyish eagerness. Oh, he's scored at least a couple of hits, which makes him feel much, much better. And lets her precede him. The boxes on the coffee table are large and rather flat. Presumably clothing.
And, awaaaay we go! Mariska all but flounces into the living room and cops a seat full of knees and elbows and carefully clutched coffee cups on the couch, leaving enough room for Felix to comfortably take a seat on either side of her before more rampant ripping begins. «You really are good to me,» she announces somewhat suddenly. The expression she dons makes it seem like she hadn't entirely expected those words to come tumbling out of her lips.
His smile goes funny, a little unsteady. «I'm glad you like it. I….never know what to get people for Christmas, so I guess.» The big box announces that it's from Fabulous Furs. Wait, what? And when she opens it, it's full of silver-white, silky fur. «This is fake,» he assures her, hastily, expression a little worried. «I mean, I didn't think a woman who's a vegetarian would like real animal fur. But we've got a formal even to go to in a couple of weeks, so I thought it'd be nice….» And it'll make her look like a screen siren, but that he won't say aloud.
To be honest, Mariska does look momentarily taken a back. While she may not be the sort who might stand and wait at a picket line in front of Saks Fifth Avenue in order to toss a cup of red paint of the next unsuspecting matron who just so happens to appear wearing a mink muff, she isn't a big fan of real fur either real or synthetic. But, it's the sentiment by which she judges and not the gift itself. And you'd better believe she'll be showing her appreciation for the gesture by wearing it to whatever this 'formal event' is that Felix is referring to. That's just the sort of lady she is. She jostles his shoulder gently as she bends to claim the next pretty-papered box and says, «Thank you.»
There's one more. A robe, but made of heavy, dark green silk, with a matching silk nightgown beneath it in the box. He's still watching her with that rather canine attention. «You're welcome,» he says, eyes bright.
Mariska's empty coffee cup is discarded in favor of gently clutching a handful of Felix's hair, just at the back of his neck, and drawing him in for a few unrushed minutes of genuine thanks murmured against lips and cheeks and chin and earlobes… with a few 'and thank you, too's sent further significantly further south by way of hip and finger relay. But, before the censors scream bloody murder for a fade to suede commercial break, she whispers, «I thought I heard elves afoot last night… in the bathroom. Maybe you should go check it out…?»
Best Christmas present ever. But when he can tune back in, Fel nods, kisses her on the ear, and scuttles for the bathroom.
Hm. That's odd. There doesn't appear to be anything particularly out of the ordinary in the bathroom at first. However, if Felix isn't inclined to snoop around like the nosy Fed that he is, Misha seems willing enough to give him a hint. An index finger indicates the mirrored medicine cabinet, though she keep a hunched and conspiratorial sort of posture as she whispers, "In there." Does she suspect these aforementioned home-invading elves might still be within earshot or something?
Birth control pills. Viagra. Who knows what. Fel all but flings open the medicine cabinet door, though at least he doesn't make the mirror fall off.
ATTACK OF THE BOX!!1 Take cover! The sheer enthusiasm that Felix uses in his discovery methods causes the blue-papered box that had been carefully tilted so as to fit in on the bottom shelf while still allowing the cabinet to close that was supposed to drop gently into waiting hands goes flying from its precarious perch and heads for the sink at a precarious drop rate. Think fast, Neo!
Well, it does. Until Fel reaches out with his power, and the box goes wafting, leisurely. Cue the Blue Danube. But he snatches for it, anyway. Mine, Precious.
Precious, indeed. Underneath the shiny paper and inside the otherwise unbranded box is a Dovo straight shaving razor with a black carbon steel blade and a smooth matte finish handle that has three Cyrillic characters engraved in ascension — Felix's initials. It comes with a little drawstring carrying case… you know, in case he wanted to wear it around on his wrist like a clutchpurse or something.
Felix's eyes round. Or in case he wanted to go out fighting with it, like a proper little droog. "Wow," he says, looking up at her. "Man, that's -nice-. Where did you find that?" Presumably she went all the way home, like the little piggie that went to market.
Close. «They sounded like German elves,» she says with a smile while persisting shamelessly in her holiday charade. «I think I heard French ones trying to open your armoire…» Hint hint.
Felix gives her one of those rare, puckish smiles, before gently laying the razor on his bathroom shelf, and trundling for the armoire.
There's no projectile presents this time around. Instead, Felix finds five brand new French cuff shirts that run the rainbow gamut from crisp white to robin's egg blue to pastel pink (yes, pink!), each neatly folded and stacked one atop the other so that the little bundle could all be wrapped in the same pearly bow.
"Nice," he says, unwrapping them and lifting them. "I needed new ones." He's actually blushing with pleasure, oddly shy. It's so weird, being domestic.
Mariska can't help but be a wee bit pleased with herself at the reactions her gifts have garnered thus far. She sidles over to her husband and clasps him from the back, snaking arm arms beneath his in order to draw her hands up over his chest and rest her chin on his shoulder, facing the same direction he is. «You might want to check your valet box, too…» Because no elf worth his (or her) salt would think of dropping off French cuff shirts without also providing a new pair of citrine-in-silver cufflinks. And that's precisely what Felix will discover once he unwraps the wee gold-papered box hidden in the aforementioned hiding place.
"I only ever get nice ones as gifts," he says, lifting them up to the light. "The amber ones I always wear were my mother's gift when I made detective and got to wear suits, you know. These are beautiful. The cheap and silly ones are the ones I buy myself. Thank you," he says, turning to nuzzle at her hair.
In the midst of a contented murmur, Mariska says softly, «There's one more. Under the bed.» However, she's not ready for him to go searching for it just yet… not until she's had the chance to squeeze him in her arms and nuzzle her nose against his neck and, oh, but he does smell nice… even if the only cologne he has on consists of coffee breath and fabric softener.
Well, he showers at night, and his soap matches his aftershave. So there's that faint, spicy scent there, along with clean cotton and coffee. Her nuzzling raises the fine hairs on his skin. Ah, the joys of being a newlywed.
Once she's had her fix and allowed three or four long, heavy, heated breaths to tumble over his shoulder and sneak in against the collar of his shirt, she loosens her grip on his and allows him to scrounge on hands and knees, much to her momentary amusement, in search of his last gift which, indeed, is hidden beneath the bed in a flat box that suggests more gay apparel.
Except not. Beneath pink paper and in a pink box is a pair of barely there pink underwear… with matching negligee.
His expression is comical. Wait, this is for me how - oh. And then he looks up at her. "I assume this is for you to wear, but for my benefit," he suggests, trying to keep his tone dry.
And then, with a perfectly straight face, she says: «Well, if you want to try it on first…»
Felix stares at her. And then immediately chokes with laughter. «Oh, man. No. It suits you much better, dear.»
Mariska then opens her arms and wiggles her fingers in a 'gimme hug' gesture.
Felix takes her in his arms. And kisses her, thoroughly. «I can't wait to see you in that.»
With arms shamelessly slung around his shoulders and new earrings needling the side of her neck even as she clings to him so tightly, Mariska finds her thoughts only now drawn to their darling, absent daughter. She momentarily marvels at how, for the first time in three years, Christmas morning was heralded with a tender kiss instead of lonely tears and she makes a silent, solemn vow that it will be the last one spent separated from each other… one way or another.
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