Chapter Text
The bartender has such colorful nails - acrylic maybe? Elsbeth isn’t sure - that watching her make cocktails is almost hypnotic. The glossy colors are so appealing, little flashes as she expertly spins the shaker around, flips it in the air, pours the drink through a strainer with a flourish. Elsbeth glances down at her own hands which feel dull in comparison. The sensation of anything more than polish coating her nails makes her feel like she’s suffocating so she’s resigned to appreciating them from afar. From her seat at the counter she observes the bar staff and early-evening patrons, sipping her Shirley Temple and enjoying the crunch of slushy ice.
“Sorry I’m late,” comes a voice to her left, and Elsbeth is grinning before she’s swivelled her barstool around to see her best friend in the entire world.
“Kaya!” They saw each other at the precinct only hours earlier, but Elsbeth hops off her stool to give Kaya a hug anyway.
Her coat carries a slight chill from outside, but she’s warm and smells comforting and familiar, and Elsbeth adores how they fit together, and she’s trying to be better with boundaries so she holds herself back and doesn’t say so, but she loves hugging Kaya so much.
“Interviews went on,” Kaya explains with an eye-roll, then holds out a small gift bag, “happy birthday Elsbeth.”
To celebrate her birthday, Elsbeth has organised a gathering of all her favorite people - from Kaya and Teddy down to the witnesses from their last case and the hot dog vendor around the corner from work - at her apartment on the coming weekend.
Her actual birthday has fallen on a Thursday this year; her least favourite day of the week because Tuesday already began with a T and it throws off using initials for calendars. (She knows Saturday/Sunday have the same issue but at least they have the courtesy to be weekends to make up for it.) Thursday usually has little going for it, other than sometimes poker night, and Kaya insisted they do something more special than bring froyo night a day forward.
She never really celebrated birthdays, or anything other than alternate Christmases back in Chicago. If she was miraculously free enough to celebrate, none of her acquaintances would be. It’s one of the many changes in her life since the move, and one of her favorites.
“Kaya! You didn't have to get me anything,” Elsbeth says, which is true, but she loves gifts, and ones from Kaya especially. She resists the urge to tear it open right away, instead collecting her drink, coat and bags and moving with Kaya along to one of the booths along the far wall of the bar.
“This is so cosy,” Elsbeth shuffles onto the seat across from Kaya.
“Right?” Kaya says with a smile, “I thought you’d like this place.”
Elsbeth could live a hundred lifetimes and not get bored of everything New York has to offer. It's far less exciting to Kaya, but her willingness to indulge Elsbeth - and, on occasion, a reluctant Teddy - means the world.
“I love it,” she grins at Kaya across the table, and a compliment slips out before she has time to think twice; “also - you look so good tonight.”
She noticed Kaya’s dress as soon as she took off her coat at the bar, because she notices everything, but it’s different now, sitting opposite under low lighting. There was nothing wrong with Kaya’s wardrobe before her promotion, but since becoming Detective and getting a more-than-deserved pay rise, new suits and dresses have been making appearances and it’s all Elsbeth can do to stop herself staring. There’s a marked work/home divide; Detective Blanke’s closet is largely monochrome and practical, while bold, playful colours only make an appearance out of hours. Tonight’s dress is dark blue with bright orange accents, a barely on-the-shoulder cut and fabric that makes her want to reach across the table to see if it’s as silky as it looks. She holds herself back, instead downing the last of her drink.
Kaya meets her eyes; flattered but not embarrassed. “Thanks, Elsbeth.”
Excited about the present as much as grateful for the prop, she holds up the giftbag, “can I open this now?”
Kaya smiles in that way she does, like Elsbeth has said or done something endearing. “Of course you can - be careful though, they’re fragile.”
As carefully as she can, Elsbeth gently pulls apart pink-white tissue paper to reveal a set of three glass flamingos.
“Oh Kaya, I love them!”
“These might need some explaining-” Kaya says, reaching to pick one up, “I know you’ve been struggling with your plants recently.”
This is true. Elsbeth loves the vibrancy houseplants bring to her home and office, but thanks to a focus best described as erratic, they always end up dying prematurely from either over- or underwatering. Last year Steve presented her with a cutting from his pothos as part of an office-wide Secret Santa and she was so thrilled she immediately killed it through her attentiveness - a metaphor applicable to several relationships that she’d rather not think about. (Distraught at the idea of hurting Steve’s feelings, she’d come up with increasingly implausible reasons for why he couldn’t enter her office in case he noticed its absence. This charade lasted for two months until Kaya and Wagner staged an intervention and she came clean; Steve, naturally, wasn’t at all offended.)
“See how the legs are little tubes?” Kaya continues, “the idea is, you fill them with water and they’ll water your plants for you over time.”
Elsbeth reverently holds up a flamingo, turning it gently before lifting it to her eye and looking at Kaya through the pink glass, “that is such a good idea!”
“You still need to remember to fill them up, but I figured if I do it when I come over, between us we can keep them topped up.”
“Absolutely,” Elsbeth nods, and the excuse to invite Kaya around even more feels like an additional gift.
“And… you said how much you like those plastic lawn flamingos,” Kaya continues with a small shrug, a twitch of the shoulder Elsbeth knows means she’s trying to be nonchalant, “I figured this is the closest practical thing.”
“Kaya,” Elsbeth beams, delicately placing her presents back in the bag so she can reach across the table with both hands for Kaya’s, “thank you so much.”
After a moment Kaya pulls back and gestures to Elsbeth’s glass, empty except for the maraschino cherry that she always saves for last. “What are you drinking?”
Elsbeth is a restrained drinker; alcohol in almost any quantity makes her peculiar, and she's self-aware enough to know that by most people's standards she’s pretty unusual when stone-cold sober. Kaya isn't most people though, and it's her birthday, so as she chews her cherry she peruses the proper-cocktail section of the drinks menu and selects the one most likely to come with a bendy straw and little umbrella.
“Summer berry bay breeze,” Kaya repeats, “got it. Be right back.”
Alone at the table, Elsbeth turns a flamingo over in her hands, warmed by Kaya’s thoughtfulness. Even the little gift bag looks like a miniature version of one of her totes.
“Good evening.”
Elsbeth looks up to see a man, probably in his fifties, whom she registered while waiting for Kaya. In her earlier observation she noted his expensive suit, suggestive of old New York money. Up close she can sense a confidence implying the same.
“I saw you at the bar,” he says, standing so near that Elsbeth leans sideways to put distance between them, the angle pulling her core muscles, “I thought you were here by yourself.”
“Well, I’m not,” Elsbeth shrugs with a grin, hopes it’s enough to communicate her disinterest.
“You are right now,” he says, and Elsbeth glances over to where Kaya’s standing at the bar. The cocktails are mixed properly here, which is half the appeal of the place, and Elsbeth realises with a sinking feeling that her fruity extravaganza is going to take a while to make. “Are you celebrating?”
“It's my birthday,” the words are a reflex, and she wants to kick herself the moment they've left her mouth.
“Well, happy birthday,” he says, leaning closer, and Elsbeth can smell bourbon on his breath mixing sickeningly with his cologne, "you can do better than spending the evening here."
"I want to be here," she insists, then backtracks, "my friend-"
"Why don't we go somewhere we can dance?" A silk pocketsquare that Elsbeth can tell costs as much as one of her jackets is folded unevenly, one side poking out of his chest pocket an inch above the other. The asymmetry on top of everything else is too much to bear and she wants to scream.
“Hey babe.” Elsbeth nearly cries with relief at the sound of Kaya’s voice. She's suddenly, wonderfully here; without drinks, so she must have spotted them from across the room and come to save her. Every day Elsbeth thinks she couldn’t be more grateful to have such an amazing best friend, and every day Kaya surprises her. Elsbeth’s hands involuntarily twitch as she wants to reach out to her.
The endearment is new, and despite the desperately uncomfortable situation, she likes it. Though she was previously sitting opposite Elsbeth in their booth, Kaya steps deliberately in front of the man and slides in to sit next to her.
“We were having a conversation,” he says, barely looking at Kaya.
“I think a conversation requires two interested parties,” Kaya shoots back. There’s a flash of anger in her eyes, and Elsbeth can feel a tingle of adrenaline course through her - part alarm, part thrill.
Kaya’s so controlled; it’s one of the things Elsbeth admires most about her. Elsbeth knows she wears her own heart on her sleeve. She’s nearly incapable of hiding what she’s feeling, and if she’s upset or angry during a case - or really, any other time - Kaya is the steadfast anchor that keeps her grounded.
So when Kaya’s arm slides around her waist, the squeak of surprise is really not her fault.
“Do you wanna move along?” Kaya asks, but it's not a question. Elsbeth can picture her look of disdain - eyebrows raised, the corner of her lip tight - but she’s determinedly not looking at Kaya’s face, or at where her hand is possessively curled against the jut of her hipbone. She's ticklish there, always has been, but for a reason she’s trying really really hard not to think about, she feels more like melting than laughing.
“Is this your girlfriend?” the man asks, his mouth curled into an arrogant grin.
“Is that a problem?” Kaya replies coolly, and Elsbeth is unbelievably grateful not to be handling this situation because so many things are happening and generating so many feelings that she’s channeling all her energy into not causing a scene.
“I don't believe you,” he sneers.
“We have nothing to prove to you,” Kaya says, “are you going to leave us alone, or am I going to make you?”
“I would love to see you try.”
Before Elsbeth has time to blink, Kaya’s standing, and she hears the indignant yelp at the same moment Kaya expertly twists the man’s arm behind his back. Elsbeth has seen Kaya restrain suspects and perpetrators dozens of times, it’s part of their working life. But Kaya jumping to her aid, following the unexpected, dizzying pretense that they’re a couple, makes Elsbeth’s face flush and her heart pound.
“There,” Kaya says calmly into his ear, “happy now?”
“Alright!” he pleads, “enough!”
Kaya releases him; all his previous confidence evaporated. Elsbeth’s not a vengeful person, but it’s very gratifying. She shoots him the kind of grin she imagines someone whose girlfriend just publicly humiliated her harasser would wear.
Cradling his arm, the man glares at them both as he stumbles away, towards the bar and out of the door.
“Are you okay?” Kaya asks, bravado gone as she turns to Elsbeth.
“I’m fine,” she nods, grateful she opted for a Shirley Temple earlier because she's lightheaded enough, “Kaya-”
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Kaya explains in a rush, “my friends have a code where we look out for each other like that; I thought it was the easiest way to get rid of him-”
“It was perfect,” Elsbeth says, reaching for a hug for the second time in one evening, “thank you.”
“I know you can handle yourself,” thanks to the angle of their embrace, it’s said right into Elsbeth’s ear; she closes her eyes for a moment, holding tight and wishing the moment didn’t have to end, “I didn't want you to have to deal with him on your own.”
She can handle herself, but not always without embarrassing everyone. Kaya’s method is far preferable, and as Kaya pulls back from the hug, Elsbeth can still feel the phantom presence of her hand around her waist.
“You've got my back,” Elsbeth does finger-guns - not very smooth but her hands have a life of their own - as she quotes Kaya's favorite show.
“Always.” Kaya promises, unexpectedly softly, and it's all Elsbeth can do to stop herself welling up with tears or hugging her again. Kaya wanted to make the evening special, but Elsbeth finds herself wishing they were back at her apartment, squashed together on the sofa with Gonzo and a pint of vanilla-peach froyo between them.
“That did kind of ruin the vibe,” Kaya says, as though reading her mind as she glances towards the doorway, “do you wanna get out of here?”
Elsbeth nods, gathering her belongings and clutching her precious present close to her chest.
She loops her arm through Kaya’s as together they head out into the evening.