a_regular_bitch | [christmas: sam]

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[christmas: sam]

Lisbeth admits easily enough that the Christmas season is difficult for her, in a variety of ways. She's never really known what it's like to spend the holiday with family or friends, and it reminds her of so many things-- of her mother, hopeful and dreading a visit from him, of seeing the reflection of brightly colored lights on the ceiling as she's strapped to a table, of nearly losing Palmgren and what had followed. And then, of course, of an idiot she'd thought herself in love with, and presumed heartbreak.

She supposes that she must have suffered from it longer in Stockholm, maybe even left the city, but that's a different Lisbeth.

The Lisbeth she is know had plunged into this strange world and had it almost immediately proven to her that while Blomkvist was a needed first step, his attention and care wasn't love at all. She had met Sam, and not only was she suddenly not alone, they had fit together so well she can almost believe in things like fate.

One of the ways they fit together is that holidays in general have been something to dread or suffer through, having had little reason to enjoy them in the first place. They try, though, and that's been more than enough.

It's early afternoon on Christmas Eve, and Sam will be home soon enough. She's been out shopping, and then fussing with what she feels to be an impressive amount of lights hung and twirled through the apartment at the last minute, enough so that between the tree and the twinkly bulbs everywhere, she doesn't need any lamps, even as it gets dark. It's maybe silly, but she has approximately one decent memory, from back before her mother was gone and before Camilla hated her-- they'd gone to some place, normally a garden, but done up with lights everywhere, even strung overhead on arches and netting.

"He'll be home soon," she tells the dogs, and after a few minutes, she curls up on the couch, much like she had so soon after arriving in Darrow-- only this time it's one of Sam's flannels that she uses as a blanket. Intending to just watch the lights for a while, she only fights sleep a little, and then stops, letting herself doze happily enough while she waits.

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His arms loaded with bags from the grocery store, Sam fumbled his key into the lock and shouldered his way into the apartment, grinning as the dogs immediately trotted over to greet him. "Okay, okay," he said, nudging at Macha gently with his knee to keep her from jumping up and knocking the bags out of his arms.

The apartment was full of a warm, twinkling glow, and his eyebrows crept up towards his hairline as he looked up to take it all in.

"Wow," he said, with a surprised laugh, his smile widening as he kicked the door shut behind him. "You've been busy."

Lisbeth stretches as she sits up, pulled from her dozing by the sound of the lock turning and then Sam and the dogs. She watches him for a moment, everything still a bit soft around the edges with half-sleep, and then turns to take in the effect of the apartment.

"I went somewhere with lights like this once," she says. "I thought I would try it."

She smiles, slow and warm, leaning on the arm of the couch. "Do you like it?" she asks, followed by the far more mundane, "Should I come help with the bags?" Sometimes she just likes to see how many things he can juggle.

There was still a hitch in his step, but he was able to get around more often, and for longer stretches of time, without his cane. Still, juggling the bags and fending off the dogs was a bit of challenge, but it was worth it, just to watch Lisbeth sprawled there, comfortable and happy, on their sofa. In their living room.

A living room decorated for Christmas, and he didn't even hate it.

"Yeah, it's... It's great," he admitted, coughing out a laugh as he carried the bags towards the kitchen. "Don't get up, I've got it."

Apart from a carton of sorbet, which he stowed in the freezer, there wasn't anything that needed to be put away immediately, so he left the bags there on the counter and rejoined her in the living room. Sinking down onto the couch at her side, he lifted her legs into his lap, palms resting comfortably on her narrow shins. "So, what's the verdict?" He asked, gesturing to the lights that she'd decided to try out. "Worth the effort?"

So she stays where she is, exhaling contentedly when he sits down beside her, drawing her close. She scoots a little closer, until it's more like her knees are over his lap, and she can lean into his arm. Even fresh out of the winter air, he's still warm and good for getting warmer.

"Worth it," she says. "I was thinking, and we are not the best people for... holidays in general, I suppose. At least in the past, when it was always a day that went out of its way to point that I was alone. And abnormal."

She looks up at the lights again. "This was the only thing I could remember liking. My mother took us, when I was seven. It was the closest I could think of, to a family tradition."

"Yeah, you, uh. You could say that," he said flatly, his mouth twisted into a rueful smile as he curled an arm around her narrow shoulders, letting her tuck herself in up against his side.

It had taken him so long to get used to the idea of being abnormal, and while he'd already taken huge strides towards it before meeting her, there was no way to deny how much better it felt, being a freak with her.

"I like it. And it's a hell of a lot better than presents from the gas station and Charlie Brown Christmas on a motel television, which is about as close to family tradition as we ever got," he admitted, his nose wrinkling, though he could at least appreciate the humor in it.

"Speaking of, I, uh. I know we're supposed to wait until tomorrow, but I wanted to, uh. I wanted to let you open yours now. I mean, if you want to," he said, reaching into the inside pocket of his coat, which he hadn't bothered to take off yet.

The package was flat and small, and wrapped in silver paper, with a slightly squashed bow on top. He winced, fussing with the ribbon, before hold it out to her.

Lisbeth thinks it goes without saying by now that of course she would punch most of Sam's family in the face, and likely tell them it was getting off easily-- after all, they could meet Zala if they liked. She knows, yes, that there's a world of difference between the ways the two of them were mistreated, the reasons they were, but it's still her first instinct.

Her second is to lean up just enough to kiss the line of his jaw. "We'll make our own," she says, very quietly.

And then she's sitting back, blinking a bit, not bothering to hide the way the pleased surprise glints in her expression. "I want to," she says, accepting the box with a smile. "Of course." She takes the bow as if it's something delicate and precious, carefully sticking it to the toe of her boot, and with just as much care, opens the box.

Inside a simple black box was a small pendant necklace, a teardrop black opal with a subtle red and blue flash. A tiny diamond fleck, her birthstone, sat within the pronged setting, the pendant hanging from a delicate white gold chain. He'd chosen it not only for the stone's protective properties or because it wasn't flashy or ostentatious, a plain black fleck from a distance with swirling beauty in its depths. He'd chosen it because he'd seen it in the case at a small, cluttered gift shop and immediately thought of her.

When he thought about it in those terms, it was almost too cheesy for him to bear, but that didn't make it any less true. Watching her open it, he winced around a smile, his brow heavily creased, feeling more nervous about any gift he'd ever given anyone... ever.

She automatically bites at her lip, sucking hard at the piercing as her eyes get bigger and bigger. The urge to stifle what she's thinking and feeling might always be there, but she can feel the way he's looking at her, and so she lets herself look back as she touches the pendant.

"It's--" The corner of her mouth, piercing and all, tugs up. "It's-- no one has ever given me anything so--" Lisbeth sucks in a breath. "So beautiful, or important." It might not be the right word, and she regrets that her English lacks some of the emotive connotation she'd like, because it's that she feels important. No one else would ever look at Lisbeth Salander and wanted to put something so lovely and delicate on her.

A year ago, she might have thought it would be too much, to have someone think that about her, but now, she's looking down at it with a wondering little smile. "Thank you," she says, and then surges up to kiss him hard.

She was on him in a flash, and he grinned into the kiss, framing her face in his hands, stifling the urge to pull her right into his lap. Instead, he pulled back, smoothing a hand over her hair, grinning in a way that could only be described as goofy.

"It, uh. It's opal, so it's supposed to bring protection," he said, with a huff of laughter as he reached out to lift it from the box. "Which, I know, sounds like bullshit, but there's actually some truth to it. Especially when it's been blessed, which—" He shrugged sheepishly. He'd done a few cleansing spells on it, too. Nothing elaborate, but just enough to bring out the natural properties in the stone.

"They're supposed to bring clarity of thought," he said, fumbling open the clasp with his big hands and then moving to hook it around her neck. The small pendant settled against her breastbone, catching the lights of the twinkling decorations she'd hung that afternoon. "When, uh. When worn next to the heart."

Edited 2020-01-17 19:26 (UTC)

At first, she'd fought herself a little bit on this, on the distinct pleasing sensation of how big he is, and how safe it make her feel, of how much she likes that, of how feeling small against Sam doesn't remind her what a stunted freak she is. She feels delicate, and precious.

Not words she'd have let anyone to ascribe to her, not ever.

"It's not bullshit," she answers quietly. "Not from you. Especially considering-- everything."

She glances down at the pendant, touching it gently, and smiles, something so small and real, only for the two of them. "You have it," she murmurs. "My heart." She doesn't mean to say it, turning a bit pink despite everything. "I-- thank you. For the present. Can I give you yours now too?"

"Yeah, I love you, too," he murmured, still getting used to the words, even though they were saying them more and more often to each other.

"Okay, yeah, sure. Let's do it," he said, settling back with a nod, already liking the idea that they could make a habit of exchanging presents on Christmas Eve, instead of on the day. He knew it wasn't that unusual, but it still felt like a decision they were making for themselves. Screw tradition.

"Okay," she answers, still a little pink-cheeked, leaning up to kiss him briefly before she rises and heads over to the tree. Pulling a box wrapped in silvery paper, perhaps just a bit clumsily-- inexperienced hands, Lisbeth returns to claim her spot next to him once more.

The box itself isn't much bigger than a shoebox, but as she hands it over, there's a significant weight to it, a bit of a heft. It's her turn to be a little nervous, sucking at her lip piercing as she watches him.

She's fairly sure he'll like it; she's certain he'd tell her liked it no matter what, but this is important in the way that still feels scary sometimes.

Grinning crookedly, he took the box from her, excitement stirring in him in an entirely new way. It wasn't like he'd never gotten presents, but they'd been few and far between, and rarely something that had much thought put into it.

Carefully tearing off the paper, he put it aside on the table to be thrown away later, then carefully opened the box's lid to peer inside.

Inside the box is another box.

This one has been wrapped carefully in some light foam packing, but when that falls away, a gleaming wooden box is revealed. Clearly somewhat of an antique, it's been restored-- a dark finish, with a few different dials or locks to indicate its real nature as a puzzle box. A dragon winds its way along one of the sides.

"It just seemed right," she says, more hopeful than nervous now. "It's for keeping-- memories."

Carefully lifting the box from its packaging, Sam let his fingers drift over the polished dials and locks, gently tracing the graceful pattern of the dragon carved along the side.

"It's perfect," he murmured, turning it this way and that. He took a moment to study it before turning to slide an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in, his lips pressed warmly to her temple. "I love it. Thank you."

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[christmas: sam]

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