Pedge's Tree + Xmas Card

Moody Fall

Grump. I is in a bad mood. Here are some pretty pictures for me and anyone else in a bad mood. Now...I am in a slightly better mood. Hmph.

Pike's Place A Christmas Story

Thanks to @burntheedges "Roll-a-Trope Challenge" this dynamic duo is going strong till Christmas Day. I've started a slow burn Winter Series with the assist of @inept-the-magnificent! New episode every couple weeks.

Triggers: tipsy heroine, smut, Christmas galore in sugary sweetness, discussions of ex, pandemic reflections, profanity, teeny tiny cut, mention of a gun...this one is pretty tame...so far...

Series Masterlist

Pike felt the pulse of your thighs holding him securely in place, as you gripped his wrists, gently pulling them behind his back. His eyelids fluttered momentarily, surprised at this forward change in tonality. You began lazily circling your hips over his gray sweatpants. Somehow his eyes were closed, but he was seeing every detail of your rosy complexion. Every freckle. Every crease. Every sumptuous plump and wrinkle was etched in his mind as his hips jerked forward into your hold. “M-more…” he stuttered, gulping loudly, slightly ashamed at his unabashed reaction. “More pleassssse…” he hissed, hearing the smirk as your voice retorted, “I’m the one calling the shots, Agent”. His head lolled lazily back as he tried to focus on his breathing, and not the feel of your breasts bouncing lightly against his bare chest. “More, more, more…” he mumbled incoherently as you increased your tempo. Pike was pure sensation. Embodied pleasure. A flame, alight under the weight of your soft body that was cascading and rippling atop him. “Do you like your Christmas present?” you drolled, as Pike began to paw at your chest with ravenous attention, gripping the pink lace of your negligee between his teeth and holding you at the back. “Yes…yes…yes…” he droned into your sternum. He opened his eyes to find…the reprimanding face of his ex, now standing above him, with a snow shovel. 

“Lisbon?” he countered, grabbing at the blanket in his lap and pulling it up to his chin. “Can’t you just let go?” she sarcastically questioned, pushing the snow shovel against his chest and digging in slightly. “When will you ever learn?” she growled, slowly morphing into the cartoon version of The Snow Miser, until her head bumped into the cabin’s ceiling. 

“What the hell?” Pike shimmied backwards, now in a full suit and grappling with three heavy suitcases.

“Ho, ho, ho and Merry Christmas!” a loud voice boomed from the outdoors, until Santa kicked the cabin’s door down, cutting an aggressive figure in bright red security apparel and smoking a cigar. 

“It’s not time yet!” Pike shouted with conviction, dropping all three suitcases and reaching for his gun, only to find a small Nerf Blaster in the holster. “Get out of my house! I’m…ON THE ART SQUAD!!!”, he bellowed attempting to pelt Santa with insignificant foam balls that exploded into tinsel.

“Have you been naughty or nice???” Santa boomed, reaching for a large red satchel and throwing it over Pike in one motion. Pike wrestled in the dark, helplessly shouting to get your attention, his feet slipping underneath him in the silky satchel. “Ho, ho, ho and Merry Christmas!!!!”

Pike jerked awake in the dull morning’s light, his heart thumping wildly in his chest sporadically. Rubbing his face with fervor, he reached for his phone haphazardly, knocking a wine glass to the cabin’s floor. “Damn” he whispered, afraid to make too much noise while you slept in the upstairs bedroom. Sleeping on the living room couch had been the obvious choice for the last few nights, but maybe he needed to scale back on the Merlot. If it was going to be fueling his nightmarish dreams, he probably should stick to hot chocolate from now on. He smiled with chagrin, looking at the small mess, and mostly finished plates of pasta adorning the nearby coffee table. Pike was meticulously neat, almost to a fault, but the last few days he couldn’t help himself, relaxing into an easy routine with his newfound guest. The pink motorist. You.

He smiled to himself, carefully sliding into his morning slippers and padding around the shards of glass to get a broom and shovel. He shivered slightly in the morning’s air and abrupt memory of his ex standing before him with her own shovel, pointing an accusatory finger. Pike was no psychologist, but he knew enough about artistic interpretation to divine his nightmarish subconscious. Even fictional exes had a point. The definition of idiocy was utilizing the same technique and expecting different results. He shuffled quietly through the living room to begin tidying up. Despite evidence to the contrary, his experience had taught him, that even with the best of intentions, love doesn’t just come knocking on your door. There’s a constant complexity of timing, experiences, desires…to say nothing of blizzards, exes and…whatever that was. He shook his head with self-deprecation. Get your head out of the sky and back in the snow, Pike, he chastised himself, sweeping up the remnants of broken glass, reaching for the final remainder…

Stretching like a cat and blinking sleepily into the friendly sunshine you smiled conspiratorially hugging Pike’s shirt to yourself indulgently and breathing in the fading woodsy scents. Pike had been kind enough to retrieve your luggage from Bessie the (now broken-down) Hyundai, but you always managed to change into his pajamas from the first wind swept evening at “Pike’s Place”. You bit your lower lip with confusion. How were you so comparatively unbothered? It had now been 72 hours since your first snowsuit-ed appearance at Pike’s doorstep, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Once you ascertained your relative safety, the last three days had snowballed into a cozy blur, falling into an easy routine, learning about your welcoming cabin mate, working from home…

You paused. I’m not working from home, I’m working from HIS home. Or home away from home? What am I even doing, and why am I so delighted by this turn of events? You huffed a sigh of confusion, relishing the memory of coffee, cookies and movies that had accompanied your easy friendship with Marcus over the last several days. Agent. Pike. You rolled your eyes at your momentary mental lapse. Things weren’t perfect. You had several digital arguments with the mechanic down the hill, a bumpy start to your unexpected stay, and the most snowfall Big Bear had seen in a decade. You thought of Bessie, now completely covered in drift, shivering in the whitened landscape. But you couldn’t care less. Christmas Eve was in 24 hours and you were stranded with Marcus until the unforeseeable future….and you couldn’t have been more enamored. It had been a difficult negotiation of self as you realized how rusty your post-pandemic social skills had become. There was the looming presence of his ghostly ex and your own insecurities, but with every emotional flinch, Pike seemed completely unawares, wrapping you in a holiday blanket of friendship, safety and chocolate chip cookies. It was almost too good to be believed, and you felt yourself waiting for the other Christmas stocking to drop. But maybe you could take a page out of Pike’s book and believe in a Christmas miracle. Maybe you WERE the hero in your own story and this “made for you” Hallmark extravaganza could finally get started without you ruining your own rom-com. Your eyes twitched to the door with surprise at the muffled sounds from the living room.

You heard Marc…Pike’s sleep-muddled voice tinged with emotion.

“More…Yes, yes, yes…” you listened, unsure of what you eavesdropping on. “Lisbon?”

Shit. Was that his ex? Your memories flashed on the small photograph you had accidentally stumbled upon in his briefcase. Good Lord, are they talking on the phone? Oh my God, would she come and visit for Christmas? Wouldn’t THAT be my luck, you pondered. Maybe the threat of the ex wasn’t quite so distant as you’d hoped. You flung the blankets off, shivering in the newfound cold, your legs mostly bare under Pike’s large flannel pajama top, searching for your morning slippers. What were you hoping for? you chided yourself, padding around the room looking for a change of clothes, and eyeing the door clandestinely. You could listen a little bit…just to…you know…stay informed? You pouted grumpily, shuffling across the room and pressing your ear against the door. 

“What the hell?” Pike raised his voice a bit. “Get out of my house!”

You audibly gasped. Was she already here? Pike sounded PISSED. Okay, score one for us you quickly appraised, before marveling at her bitchy bravado. How dare she show up on Marcus’ doorstep for the holidays, after breaking his heart! The irony of that accusation didn’t escape you before hearing a crash of glass and raising up to your full height of 5’3”. Oh hell no. Where’s my crowbar?

With all the force a small redhead could muster you nearly flung yourself down the stairwell, crowbar in hand, prepared for anything except the vision you found.

“StopStopStopStopStop! There’s glass!” Pike cautioned, holding up a distressed hand ornamented by a small trickle of blood. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” you gulped, tiptoeing down the stairwell carefully and crouching at Pike’s side. 

“Just clumsy” he chuckled, before you grabbed his wrist, eyeing the small cut appraisingly. Without even thinking, you popped his finger into your mouth and began sucking lightly. Oh my God. You had never been a morning person and the adrenaline of the moment had completely overridden your common sense, but this was…Your eyes rounded to small saucers as Pike’s mouth dropped open in surprise. You both froze mid-moment as Pike’s eyes drifted down your body, gazing at your freckled knees and silky skin. His length tantalizingly twitched in his gray sweatpants, as he desperately prayed you hadn’t noticed. You had.

“Are you wearing my pajamas?” Pike finally rasped, pulling his finger ever so slowly out of your mouth and using it to tuck a hair behind your ear.

“They’re very well made” you heard yourself respond, as though from another universe, balanced precariously close to Marcus’ curious expression. “DO YOU HAVE A FIRST AID KIT?” you yelled into his face with overt concern as Pike nearly fell backwards in surprise.

“Of course!” he quipped. “Check the study if you want, I think I’ll probably survive the blood loss thanks to your…quick thinking…” he smiled as your cheeks reddened. You gulped with embarrassment, making fast work of finding the first aid kit as Pike cleared the glass from the living room.

You carefully padded into the kitchen, sitting at the nearby barstool as Pike drifted in front of you. “S’okay Doc, it’s just a flesh wound” Pike joked, leaning against the counter and positioning himself rather closely between your spread knees. You cleared your throat with arousal, attempting to focus on the task at hand, grabbing some anti-bacterial. 

“I’ll be the judge of that, Agent” you smirked, unknowingly mirroring Pike’s clandestine dreamscape as he shifted awkwardly. You held his hand in yours, applying the spray and then blowing over his finger seductively, watching the light goosebumps splay across his forearms.

“I thought I heard voices downstairs, was somebody here? Did the storm lighten up?” you wondered, trying to get a read on Pike’s expression.

As though shaking himself from a daze Pike sighed heavily, answering, “No! I was just…uh…I talk in my sleep…” he grinned, turning his lower body slightly towards the counter. This was a surprising way to wake up and he wasn’t 100% sure if the rest of his body had gotten the message.

You nodded, peering out the window at the new layer of snow drifting from the sky. “It’s even worse!” you exclaimed, placing a bandaid around Pike’s pointer finger as he winced pathetically. “Sorry…” you apologized, planting a feather light kiss on the tip of his finger. 

Wow. I’m really laying it on thick, you thought. But seeing Marcus’ eyes crinkle appreciatively banished any self doubt that might have remained.

“Well, here at Pike’s Place, we remunerate friendly bedside manner with copious coffee. I assume you’d like your regular order m’lady?” Pike jested, squeezing your arm lightly with gratitude.

“Absolutely” you sighed, happy to re-start your daily routine. Somehow the last three days had transpired the way you wished the pandemic might have. Easy conversation as you worked from your laptop. Taking a lunch break mid-day you would join Pike around the small tv and flickering hearth, marveling at the manilla folders and envelopes of art curators, recent cases and photographs. Between laughter and mouthfuls of tuna fish sandwiches Pike was already teaching you a lot about art dealers and policing the black market. And as you finished your evening work, you and Pike would always watch another movie fueled by your questionable cooking attempts and…one too many bottles of Merlot. Is this how other people had waited out the pandemic? You reminded yourself to stop the comparison game and just be grateful for the moment you had. Tomorrow, Bessie could spring to life, or the blizzard could die down, and…there goes Christmas.

You swallowed, watching Pike’s fit form shuffle into the kitchen, pulling out two mugs and heating up the skillet for pancakes. Your heart lurched violently in your chest realizing that you had started placing an expectation on celebrating Christmas…with him. It wasn’t even a hope you’d articulated to yourself until this very moment, though you’d already cautioned your parents that things were proceeding unexpectedly and they should make other plans. But this was more than a haphazard circumstance, this was steadily becoming that aforementioned Hallmark Movie, but you weren’t sure you were up to heroine material.

Pike turned towards you, “Sugar?”

You frowned pensively, once again trying to reconcile the many doubts floating through your vision.

“Hey, what happened?” Pike teased. “Tired of my pancakes already? We can have…I think there’s a waffle iron here somewhere” he started rummaging around through the cabinets.

“No, I love your pancakes!” you piped up, “I was just…thinking…about Christmas” you trailed off, unsure of how much could be readily shared.

Pike paused reflectively, “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. I’m sure, being stuck here with a complete stranger for the holidays wasn’t your dream vacation” he grimaced, pouring the arabica roast into an old fashioned coffee maker.

You stilled, surprised that Pike had somehow drawn the opposite conclusion from your emotional reality, but unsure how to convey the disconnect. “I mean, you’re not a complete stranger” you joked, tossing a bandage at his back to get his attention.

Pike turned, his face full of theatrical gravitas. “Ma’am that is not entirely hygienic hospital behavior at Pike’s Place” he shut the coffee machine with a flourish, stooping to pick up the tissue. “I was thinking…” he stopped abruptly, desperate to turn over a new leaf, but also conflicted regarding your confession. You waited, breath poised as the cogs turned in Pike’s head.

 “Thinking was your first mistake, Agent. I dare you to tell me that last thought. I double dog dare ya!” you teased from last night’s viewing of “A Christmas Story”.

Pike chuckled throwing up his hands in supplication. “I was determined to sulk around this Christmas until…” he gestured towards you, as you pantomimed a theatrical bow. “But as you might have guessed, Christmas is a big deal in the Pike household…”.

You gasped audibly, clutching your chest with dramatics. “What? From the apron and cookies and general holiday enthusiasm, I NEVER would have guessed!” you taunted, smelling the chocolatey aroma of coffee percolating in the sunshine infused kitchen.

“And lately, it’s almost like…Christmas is barreling towards us, gaining speed, and I just wish there was something I could do about it. For you. Or us. I mean, you” Pike tripped over the finish line, quickly resuming his cooking activities without ruining the entire proposition. Your face burst into a Cheshire-like grin. Of course. This didn’t seem like a man who was trying to get rid of you. Marcus seemed like the contemporary embodiment of Father Christmas, and he’d probably been waiting for such a moment as this to test the frigid waters. YOUR frigid waters if you’d ever loosen up.

“What did you have in mind?” you asked innocently enough, until Pike swirled around, running out of the kitchen enthusiastically.

“I’m so glad you asked, I’ve written down some ideas!” he nearly bounded into the study, rummaging around through his notebooks and displaying it proudly before you.

“How long have you been working on this?” you twinkled, skimming the lengthy list of possible Christmas activities to enjoy, during a blizzard.

“Just…since…you got here” Pike admitted, running back to get the brewing coffee before it bubbled over. “I mean…just brainstorming is all…we don’t have to…” Pike set about finishing breakfast as you read.

If there was a ten step program to celebrating a Hallmark Christmas this was it. You had to give it to him; Pike KNEW Christmas. And at this rate, Pike knew YOU. The only reason you hadn’t suggested these things was because you had turned into the Grinch. But no longer. 

“I like it. Work with you’ve got” you whispered, as Pike placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of you with questioning eyes and curiosity. 

“Too much? Not enough?” he joked, as you fingered the impressive drawings in the margins.

“I think it’s perfect”.

It looked like the pink snowsuit was about to get a dubious refrain as you and Pike endeavored to find Christmas in the snowy tundra. You bore a striking similarity to Randy Parker in your pillowy snowsuit, oversized boots and Lenny Kravitz style scarf. Between slipping and sliding out of Pike’s helpful grasp, you finally collapsed in a heap in the powdery snow, flailing your arms like a small child.

“I believe I am currently fulfilling Number 5 on your Christmas List” you giggled “though I’m not sure how many snow angels are bright pink!” you laughed as Pike gazed at you wonderingly.

“I believe it’s listed as Number 4, but you won’t be penalized for a technicality” Pike nearly jumped on top of you, amidst your squeals as he rolled to the side making his own snow angel beside you. A small, ill-formed snowball caught him across the neck, peppering his chest with an explosion of icy sensation as he sat up, forebodingly.

“Oh, is that the game you wanna play, California?” he cautioned, rolling to one side and compacting a large, skilled arsenal as you froze mid-play. 

“I surrender!” you tittered, throwing your hands above your head in mock surprise. “That wasn’t me. That was…Scrooge! The Grinch! I saw him sneaking around the cabin…” Pike lunged in your direction, caging you in against his body, poised to stuff a handful of snow down the front of your suit. Your eyes glimmered temptingly, simultaneously hopeful and terrified, as he thought better of it, throwing the snowball over his shoulder and offering you a hand up.

“I will not be dissuaded, Pink” he joked, attempting to pull you to your feet amidst giggles and protestations. “Even the Grinch will not deter us as we quest for Christmas!” Pike finally hoisted you upright, pulling you into his body closely, the smell of coffee, mint and pine tingling your nose coldly. Your lips numbed in anticipation. Was he going to kiss you? He held your gaze for what felt like an eternity, as the snowy landscape somehow burned warmly. Licking his lips and taking a deep breath he pulled back, holding your lower back with a steadying hand. “Now to find our Christmas Tree” he announced, trudging towards the woodshed, ostensibly to get an axe of some kind.

That wasn’t just in your head, right? you mused, watching his athletic form cut a path through the waist high snowdrift towards a patch of smaller trees. Was your buddy, Pike just playing it safe? Or did Marcus feel the same atmospheric crackle that you just did? Once again you flashed on the photograph of Lisbon, somehow juxtaposed by a sorrowful image of you pacing the floor in your self-imposed, pandemic quarantine. Were you so desperate for connection you were imagining things? Or was there something more between you and Pike? Pike beamed broadly from about 50 feet away, shaking a small pine free of dotty snowflakes and cupping his hand to his mouth, “What d’ya think, Pink? Is this the one?”

You smiled to yourself clandestinely. Oh yes Agent Pike, this might be the one indeed.

Pike dragged a small pine tree over the threshold as he simultaneously attempted to corral your giggling, unsure footing into the cabin’s cozy interior. Pike slammed the door shut, grinning broadly as you slipped wildly backwards, grabbing onto to his waist comically.

“Okayeeee California! Thank God we’re not sending you back out on the road quite yet! We’ve got a Christmas to assemble, and you look like Bambi on ice…”

You were having trouble catching your breath, a steady stream of uncontrollable laughter racking your ribs and threatening your bladder. ALL of that pent up pandemic pressure was FINALLY starting to dissipate, and you were starting to feel euphoric in the possibility. Pike pulled you to your feet, unzipping the hood of your snowsuit, his finger lingering at your sternum for a moment. 

“Sorry I’m a little weak-knee’d” you uttered breathlessly as Pike looked down at your blue-tinged lips. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob painfully in his throat as he begrudgingly pulled back with a doleful smile. 

“Um…Happy to get you back on your feet” he stuttered, searching for the rusted Christmas Tree stand in the hallway closet. You took a deep breath attempting to rally your resolve. You couldn’t tell if Pike reciprocated or was just being cordial. Heaven’s knows you found yourself in a unique situation, but you didn’t want to make the same mistakes from the past, becoming so isolated that you couldn’t reach out and accept a gift that was right in front of you. Somehow, you’d have to ascertain what the situation was with the ex. Did he still love her? Why did they break up? Or was this just another case of slipping into the friend zone? As your cold exterior had begun to melt, was it already too late, or could things be salvaged, much like this MacGyver’d Christmas? There was only one way to find out.

“What do you think?” Pike stepped back from his quick work, admiring the victorious and homey tree that wobbled proudly next to the hearth. “A Christmas miracle in the making!”

“It’s perfect” you beamed, excited to see where the evening’s festivities would take you. 

“Moving on to the arts and crafts portion of our day” Pike teased, “I think there is some kind of bird or ham hiding in the outdoor freezer, which means all that remains is finding…the perfect gift” Pike paused dramatically.

You burst into another bout of laughter, unsure of his meaning, “Do you have a Macy’s hiding out back that I’m unaware of?”

Pike rolled his eyes comedically as you dusted off your snow boots and plopped unceremoniously onto the couch to defrost.

“Pink, you can’t have a Christmas without gifts, we just have to think outside of the box. Literally” he sat down next to you, propping his feet up on the coffee table and gazing at the crackling fire pensively.

“I’m gonna need to know way more about my target audience before I go shopping” you mused. “I’m fairly certain Amazon doesn’t deliver via chimney, and unless you are pining for a crowbar, my options are limited” you paused. “Twenty questions?”

“Shoot” Pike teased.

“Favorite color?”

“Blue”.

“Music genre?”

“Jazz”.

Your eyebrows cocked upward. Noted.

“Favorite food?”

“Depends. Are you cooking?”

You kicked Pike lightly on the shin as he began chuckling.

“Best gift you ever received?”

The atmosphere in the room stiffened slightly as Pike readjusted on the couch. “Uhhhh…well…Lisbon gave me a signed screenplay of ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’, last year…it’s…uh…in storage now…” he trailed off, disappointed at the finality of the story. Your breath caught in your throat hesitantly. This was it. This was the information you needed, but you didn’t want to push things when so much of the day had been steeped in perfection.

“Oh, I’m sorry, we don’t have to…” you began, until Pike waved you off, gesticulating.

“If we’re going to be celebrating the holidays together, I probably need to revisit Christmas Past. It’s just a little…embarrassing…” he nudged the coffee table with a small pout.

“More embarrassing than isolating yourself completely for two years?” you encouraged, willing Pike to share anything that would offer insight. “Or was it more embarrassing than this bright pink snowsuit I can’t seem to escape, despite my best efforts?” you teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Fair enough” Pike acquiesced. “Though…I am still very partial to pink” he admitted, choosing his next words carefully. “Lisbon…my ex…just didn’t…we weren’t on the same page” he confessed, as though for the first time. His eyes took on a shine that didn’t seem entirely related to the cold. “I made some mistakes, and…read the signs wrong…and she broke it off. She’s with somebody else…who isn’t me” a momentary pained look flashed across his face before resuming its quintessential good natured complexion. “Your turn” he ventured.

“Shoot”.

“Favorite color?”

You tilted your head telepathically.

Pike tossed his hands up in surrender. “Favorite music?”

“Jazz” you pursed your lips mischievously.

“No cheating in class, please” Pike joked. “Favorite gift?”

The deep silence that stilled in your chest felt simultaneously liberating and cavernous as you realized how long it had been since the holidays felt…normal.

“Last year I had to do Christmas alone and it was really…weird” you recollected. “I finally opted to buy myself a really fancy journal so I wouldn’t feel so lonely” you shared, blushing slightly at the admission. 

“So…your best gift was…you” Pike smiled, satisfied with the description. You were a bit less satisfied, collapsing in on yourself and kicking him again, this time on the flank. 

“Shutup” you whispered, aware that in some respects, he was right.

Pike grinned knowingly and hoisted himself up with a huff, heading to the kitchen. “Time for Pike’s Place to get to work on the afternoon rush” he teased, grabbing his holiday apron and starting lunch. Your eyes narrowed ambitiously. This was the key. Lisbon might have known Pike, but she didn’t know what a gift she had in her grasp, and you weren’t going to make the same mistake. Sounds like she had dropped the ball, and not taken every advantage in front of her. This was one Christmas gift you were determined to unwrap, proving to Pike once and for all that he was more than worth the wait. 

Finally satiated in holiday magic, you and Pike laughed over crumbling sandwiches in the small dining room. Your laptop, helplessly shoved to the side, did nothing to dissuade the celebratory events as Pike spread an impressive cornucopia of magazines and newspapers to begin the “arts and crafts” portion of Christmas. Your Girl Scout badges were finally coming to fruition. Pike was annoyingly prodigious at all things artistic and had soon crafted more than a few impressive ornaments whilst regaling you with curated art insights. Lisbon was an idiot. Fuck it. YOU were Donna Reed, not in a snood and not in a pink snowsuit. You were gonna seize a page from Pike’s enthusiastic Place and grab Christmas by the balls. Or maybe Pike! Gasp. Marcus. Riiiiiight. Marcus. The force of your abrupt arousal throbbed noisily between your legs as you shifted slightly. Drawing yourself back into reality you found Pike gazing at you fixedly. You started at the intensity of his stare, hoping he wasn’t telepathically gifted.

“Getting bored?” Pike redirected, setting down the scissors and glue and looking outside at the resuming snowfall.

“Hardly” you muttered, just under your breath. The phone rang.

The phone rang?

Pike’s mouth dropped about a foot as you both froze expectantly. “What in the hell?” Pike laughed, running towards the study, barely remembering the landline that hadn’t been used in ages. “Pike’s Place, how may I direct your call?” you heard his muffled tones through the door stifling your laughter. You really had stepped back in time. The cabin grew eerily quiet as Pike spoke in hushed tones and finally hung up the phone. You swallowed noiselessly. Was something wrong? Was there a family emergency? Lisbon hadn’t reared her beautiful head again, had she? The sheer enormity of possibility stretched in front of you as Pike’s disappointed face flashed in front of you for a millisecond.

“Good news!” he exclaimed, wiping the conflicted look from his face almost immediately and sitting back down at the table. You breathed a sigh of relief, though still unsure of his unreadable reactions. “If it really is a problem with your transmission, like before, the mechanic finally ordered the CV joints and can give you a tow back into town tomorrow…” Pike delivered his monologue perfunctorily, trying to plaster a jovial smile on his otherwise lackluster expression, pausing in masked defeat. “Merry Christmas Pink, you’re free!”

You tried to hide your immediate disappointment, peering out the window to hide any blossoming tears and noting the short cessation of snowfall. “On Christmas Eve?” you cynically observed, trying to keep the harsh bite out of your tone, but reverting to a Scrooge like facade. 

“You don’t have to go to Macy’s after all!” Pike overtly chimed, a bit too melodically, settling into the silence of the anti-climax and gazing around the formerly happy cabin. The hearth crackled joyfully as “A Christmas Story” played on endless repeat on the television. Though the small Christmas Tree, devoid of ornaments seemed to slump in defeat. You bit your lower lip, gazing at the snow covered lump that was Bessie and trying to stifle a snow storm of tears hovering behind your eyes. 

“That’s wonderful news” you droned, not attempting to hide the obvious disappointment in your tone. It seemed ludicrous to indulge your now obsolete Christmas fantasies, but at what cost? You couldn’t even get to your parents in time this late in the season, and the tremendous repeated isolation seemingly stretched out before you. Another Christmas alone and perched on what was poised to be your best Christmas yet. “Guess I better get packing!” your voice cracked suddenly as you dove up the stairwell, wiping away stray tears as Pike called after you concernedly. Running up the stairs you slammed the door shut, throwing yourself on the bed dramatically. You couldn’t even stop the now steady stream of tears, muffling your cries into the pillowcase. There goes the holidays. There goes Pike. There goes your very own “Christmas Story”, up in ashes in the glimmering fireplace. A Merry Fucking Christmas.

Pike swallowed hard, hearing the upstairs bedroom slam shut theatrically. He had expected you to be delighted, but rushing upstairs to pack? Something didn’t add up; were you really so desperate to escape Pike’s Place? Pike forlornly gazed around the cabin, trying to once again cajole himself into celebrating the holidays alone. I mean, this is what he had planned. Survive the holidays and return to life. A life without love. Pike shook his head abruptly, gathering up the ornaments and trudging to the Christmas Tree. Help out a stray roadster in need. Drown sorrows in Merlot. Pike flashed on his repeated nightmares of Lisbon and Christmas chaos. Maybe scale back on the Merlot, he reprimanded himself. It wasn’t a surprise that he had once again misread the signals. It’s what he seemed to do best. But you’d seemed thoroughly delighted with the day’s festivities, and he had mirrored it. Just another mis-step Pike, he chided himself. The main thing now was to focus on giving you a celebratory send off, and getting back to the realities of work and solitude. Pike stepped back from the now decorated tree, gazing at it appraisingly. Time for this Holiday Fantasy to come to a close, he reasoned. Stop thinking with your heart, and start thinking with your head. Time to grow up, Pike. Maybe Christmas is really just for kids.

You needed several hours to regain your composure and pack your few belongings. You gazed annoyed at the stupid pink snowsuit hanging in the corner. Almost as though rehearsing a play, you began to fashion your monologue for departure. “Thank you again for all of your help, I couldn’t have survived this experience without you!” you chirped, hoping to convince yourself that a quick exit was the only solution. The choppy waves of emotions threatened to cascade over you with every re-direction as you exhaustedly sat on the bed. What if you didn’t just take this lying down? You might be leaving tomorrow, but what if you made some sort of grand gesture? Marcus had said that Lisbon chose.somebody else? Maybe this was your chance once and for all to prove to Marcus that he was worth the same care and enthusiasm that overflowed so naturally out of his very personhood.  Over the last several days, he had done nothing but shower you with care and concern. Wasn’t it time to jump into the holidays with both of your snow-booted feet, and take a genuine risk? 

Your nose crinkled delightedly in curiosity. You HAD to be imagining things. Your mouth began to salivate like Pavlov’s Dogs, tentatively opening the door and tiptoeing down the stairs hesitantly. Billowing fragrances of ham, chocolate, and wine wafted over you as you smirked at the twinkling Christmas Tree now fully decorated. The record player in the corner was playing some Ella Fitzgerald as “A Christmas Story” repeatedly looped on mute. Your mouth dropped open upon seeing the candlelit dinner shining before you.

“What the fuck?” you whispered, as Pike peeked his head around the corner.

“Merry Christmas?” Pike shrugged with chagrin, removing his apron and straightening his tie. You stood gaping, completely speechless at the celebratory sight glowing before you. This was more than anybody deserved, particularly you. Somehow you had stumbled into “An Unexpected Christmas Story”, and you weren’t going to wait for anyone else to pull it from your grasp.

“It’s too much, right?” Pike winced with embarrassment. “I just figured…I couldn’t eat this ham all by myself…and…we ought to…celebrate your return to freedom on this somewhat snowy Christmas Eve…eve…” he trailed off, desperately hoping this fell under the facade of friendship. You might not reciprocate his feelings, but life had taught him to seize whatever joy crosses your path, because opportunities evaporate at a moment’s notice. And he was just grateful to be enjoying the moment he was in…with you.

Without saying a word, you ran into his arms, grasping him tightly about the neck, determined to hold your tears at bay.

“Whoa!” Pike mumbled into your hair, surprised at your reaction, but pleased nonetheless. “I’m just glad Bessie brought you to my doorstop to remind me about the true meaning of Christmas” Pike chuckled. “Which is, always get your transmission checked before a long sojourn” Pike pulled back to tuck a stray hair behind your ear hesitatingly “…and always expect the unexpected”.

This was it. You picked at the edges of your sweater nervously, as you and Pike sat on the couch watching the umpteenth reshowing of the AMC classic. You were already three glasses of Merlot in, particularly as Pike had refrained, but you couldn’t seem to get enough liquid courage into your system to fuel your plans of seduction. Your eyes traveled to the shimmering Christmas Tree aglow with homemade ornaments and frivolity. A small hiccup racked your body as you noticed a manilla envelope with a bow sparsely dotting the otherwise barren underskirt. Was that a gift??? You covered your mouth in incredulity, about to scoff at Pike’s preparation before hearing his contented breathing next to you. You knew he was a morning person, but perhaps the day’s events had tuckered him out. He was dozing peacefully next to you, fingers twitching mere inches from your thigh. A pained expression crossed your face, adoring the placid expression and parted lips that greeted you. Oh God, he was so handsome. Admiring his aquiline nose and fluttering brown eyelashes, your Merlot fueled gaze hungrily absorbed how broad his shoulders were and the sinewy veins pulsing at his neck, underneath his now loosened tie. Baby Jesus Christ. You unbuttoned the top of your shirt, once again overheating in the worst blizzard of a decade. You looked out the darkened window seeing a fresh batch of snow cascading downward. Cindy Lou be praised, maybe there was a way to redeem this turn of events, if you could just grab Christmas by the ornamental balls, and maybe Pike in the process. You reached for the nearby glass of Merlot, eyeing the bulge in Pike’s pants conspiratorially. Was he …? You blinked nonsensically over the rim of your wine glass, hoping to bypass your own insecurities. From the tv, Ralphie Parker touted the benefits of an official red-rider carbine action two hundred shot range model air rifle BB gun. You knew exactly what you wanted to give Pike for Christmas. But were you going to be brave enough to pull the trigger?

Pike felt the echoes of his discontent pulling him further and further down. He wanted to be happy for your apparent victory, and enjoy the remaining time he had with you, but he also couldn’t keep his eyes open. Early mornings and poor sleep lulled him into a dozing stupor as the ghost of Lisbon kept jostling him awake. With a start, he sat up, the television off, cabin cold and barren, save the glowing light of your room at the top of the stairwell. Nooooooo. He took in the shimmering Christmas Tree and empty bottle of Merlot, sad that Christmas had come and gone so anticlimactically. He gazed down at the manilla envelope, planning to give it to you before you left. He felt his heart wrench in his chest uncomfortably, acknowledging yet another loss. Why did the holidays always inspire so much pathos in him? Where was his “Wonderful Life?”, and why did it always seem to be slipping from his grasp?

Your fingertips dragged seductively over his shoulder to his forearm, and like something out of a dream, you floated into his view, clad only in your delicate pink bra and lace panties, silhouetted by the sparkling fire. Pike’s voice caught in his throat, completely captivated by the glowing figure in front of him. His eyes trailed hungrily over your curving frame, turning his palms up in supplication and hoping beyond hope that things would turn out better than his past romances. Without saying a word, you straddled his hips and began circling them enticingly. His eyelids fluttered shut as his head fell back against the couch, delicately bringing his fingers across the smooth skin of your ass. He whispered your name sacredly. It felt like a miracle. “Miracle at Pike’s Place…”

Pike’s pretty eyelashes were fluttering in sleep as you moved slightly closer to his warm body. His lips were moving incoherently as his palms sat upward on his lap imploringly. You couldn’t help but be magnetically pulled to his supplicant posture….and then…he whispered your name. It wasn’t so much of a whisper as a soft moan, as your eyes shot up to his sleeping countenance. Oh God, don’t have to tell me twice, your Merlot addled brain reasoned. With all the nuance of a bulldozer you practically leapt onto Pike’s lap, placing both hands on his broad shoulders as he grabbed you around the waist confusedly.

“W-what?” Pike mumbled, heart pounding fiercely in his chest and waking to find you astride his lap, lower lip stained in wine.

“Is this okay?” you asked, realizing the cart was significantly in front of the horse at this point, but you didn’t care. Not only was your libido exploding like a firecracker, you were officially out of time. Or were you? You placed your hands lightly to the sides of Pike’s neck, pulling him towards you. “Can I kiss you?” you beseeched him, grabbing at the collar of his dress shirt and woman-handling the loose tie.

“K-kiss me” he repeated dumbly, eyes wide as saucers.

You had no idea if that was a question or a statement, but the Merlot had other plans. You smashed your lips to his with abandon as you felt his hands melt into your back, drawing down your body passionately. It was everything you had been dreaming about and more, but within a few seconds, Pike was pulling back. 

“Wait, wait…we can’t do this…” he panted, clearly conflicted in the heat of the moment.

“Pretty sure we’re two grown-ups, we can do whatever we want” you mumbled into his neck, kitten licking up by his earlobe. You felt his body shudder underneath you excitingly.

“No…I mean…I’m out of time…we’re out of time…” he implored, pushing back from you every so slightly.

“It’s okay! I’m not going to leave tomorrow…I’ve decided to stay! I want a Christmas with you…” you blushed unabashedly at the revelation, but in for a penny, in for a pound. You didn’t want to celebrate the holidays with anyone else, and this was your chance to prove to Pike what the last few days had meant to you.

“No, you don’t understand!” Pike grabbed your hands, pulling them in front of your body. “I’M leaving…” he stated emphatically, looking directly into your eyes so there could be no misunderstandings.

You didn’t understand.

“What do you mean?” you stammered, halting your movements and pulling back with embarrassment. “I…I mean…I’m not drunk…I’m a little tipsy…but…you don’t have to leave…I mean…I thought…” you couldn’t grab the thread of understanding as Pike’s gaze continued to soften with concern. You slid off of his lap, gathering up your knees to your chest, sitting as far from him as possible on the living room couch. “Pike, where are you going?” you held your breath, willing yourself to disappear under the floorboards.

“I…I’m leaving…after Christmas” he apologized, seeing your still confused expression. “I don’t work in the Sacramento offices anymore. I’m moving to Washington D.C”.

*thanks @unknown-till for the cool dividers!

Pedge Tweets PikesPlace

I fell hard for these two, in an unexpected way. Since y'all love them as much as I do, I've started a Slow Burn Winter Series with the assist of @inept-the-magnificent! Here's a little Christmas Confection before our next reveal December 15th! Fictionally, this takes place somewhere between Episodes 3 and 4...

Series Masterlist

*produced with i-fake app

In Cold Blood; The Exposition

Grab a Latte! lounge around in the foyer with this sweet fic "Happy to Help" @itwasntimethatdidit40, before heading into the Bookshop!

Triggers: mentions of alcohol/smoking, huge spoilers for the Truman Capote classic "In Cold Blood" which is referenced A LOT, profanity, romance, common themes from 1959, slight misogyny, murder and mayhem! Enjoy....

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3k

A seedy and polluted haze drifted over the din of the L.A. basin as Tim Rockford inhaled a slow drag from another satisfying smoke. Just another day in the life of investigation, as the gears of inspection ground down to a wearied lull. Another night for Chinese Take out, thought the P.I as he loosened the strap of his gun holster and downed the first of several whiskeys. Rockford didn’t mind being a private investigator. If pressed, he’d go so far as to say, he absolutely loved it; the adventure, the intrigue, the search for truth amidst a grimy haze of innuendo and misdirection. 

But on tired nights, such as these, he also wondered if a soft, feminine body wouldn’t cushion the loneliness. Begrudgingly extinguishing the cigarette and flicking the light switch, he grabbed his coat, poised to enter the bustling Los Angeles night life before….

A phone rang. 

HIS phone rang, in the echoing and empty office building he populated with so many others. Who would be calling at this hour? He paused but a millisecond to lift the phone receiver, anticipating the tinny crackle of an undisclosed voice.

“Tim Rockford; Private Investigator for hire”. An eerie silence permeated the landline, as Rockford sucked through his teeth with annoyance. “Look Mack, I’m on my way out, so make it quick…”. The line immediately bristled to life as a tentative, high-pitched nasal voice cut through the auditory ether.

“Tim Rockford?” the voice nonsensically repeated, as though caught in an unexpected moment. Rockford cocked his head to the side with curiosity. He wasn't often contacted by a woman, particularly this late at night.

“In the flesh” Tim answered, with softening annoyance. What was this? Rockford had some Moo Shu Pork to order before this whiskey threatened his already cranky stomach lining. Maybe egg rolls were a good idea as a chaser, he pondered, waiting for the caller to get up their gumption. “What can I do you for?” he probed, shifting his weight impatiently. 

“Tim Rockford….in Los Angeles…Tim Rockford, Private Investigator?” the voice gained a little anonymous momentum, as Tim tried to wrangle his increasing disdain.

“Look doll, I don’t care if you’ve got the zorros, but make it quick will ya? I’ve got a plate of stir fry with my name on it….” Rockford admonished, wondering if he should take his raincoat off or not.

“Yes! Yes, Mr. Rockford, forgive my hesitancy. Um….are you familiar with Holcomb? Holcomb, Kansas?” 

Rockford froze with intensity, looking around the quiet, darkened room. Of course, he’d heard of Holcomb, Kansas. The recent catastrophic four person, Clutter Family murder had painted the newspapers over the last couple weeks, and the entire investigative community was alight. Who would do such a thing in a sleepy, unassuming town? It had all the markings of a robbery gone wrong, but what could have led to such unmitigated violence? Tim’s inquisition and sense of justice was immediately heightened, but he tried to play it off as the cool cat he was.

“Plastered all over the news, paper shaker. What’s it to me?” his stomach gurgled audibly as he waited with rapt anticipation. He wanted in. This was maybe the biggest crime of the decade, and chance had potentially dropped a prime opportunity in the palm of his hand.

Another dramatic pause of introspection gripped the receiver before the voice admitted, “We need help Mr. Rockford. This case is much bigger than anyone here in Finney County can muster. It’s only a matter of time before the Kansas Bureau of Investigations comes snooping into all our business, and we want someone we can trust. You know, a man of the people…” the voice confessed.

Score.

“Alright doll, how many smackers are we talkin’?” Rockford chewed his lip with anticipation. He had just finished a recent case and there were no prospects on the horizon. Well, unless you counted the secretarial search, but a hook as large as this one would necessitate two…no…four weeks of investigation, travel and per diem. Maybe even justicial glory for the taking.

“Well….we took up a little charity offering at the town hall yesterday. Managed to dig up about one hundred dollars…” Rockford rolled his eyes before draping a weary hand over his furrowed brow. One hundred dollars? That would barely cover two weeks salary, to say nothing of the cost of food and travel. He stalled momentarily, unsure of his footing as the caller placated.

“Please Mr. Rockford, I think you might be our only hope”.

Rockford held his breath, weighing the options. The pay wasn’t as enticing as he’d hoped, but the rewards would far outweigh any monetary reparations. If his moniker was attached to solving the crime of the decade, it was only a matter of time before Rockford P.I. was a household name.

“I can be there in about two days” Rockford’s gravelly voice betrayed a hint of child-like enthusiasm as the anonymous caller rattled off the important details.

“Oh thank you Mr. Rockford, P.I., sir. I can’t tell you what a boon this is for Holcomb, Kansas. We are just beside ourselves with worry” the voice pleaded as Rockford nodded with encouragement.

“Damndest thing I’ve heard of in a while” Rockford admitted. “I’ll get to work straight away. See you in a few days, Mrs.….?”….but the line went dead at the potential inquiry.

Hmmm. Not a good sign. But Rockford was already planning his next move. Grab every piece of newspaper clippings, roadmaps and literature he could get his hands on. Pack a suitcase for a few weeks in Holcomb, Kansas, hop in his trusty Ford Falcon tomorrow morning and start the arduous task of uncovering the truth in the “Clutter Family Murders”.

Now, all he needed was an egg roll, some Moo Shu Pork and a good night’s sleep. Finney County, Holcomb, Kansas….here I come.

The mellifluous voice of Frankie Avalon drifted from your record player singing the dulcet tones of “Why” as you teased your bouffant just a bit higher.

I'll never let you go Why? Because I love you I'll always love you so Why? Because you love me

You bit your lower lip, already smudging the dark red lipstick you had freshly applied. Who did you think you were, Marilyn Monroe? You were reaching for the stars, not trying to ascend to heaven with the height of your questionable hairstyle. Opting for a more humble approach, you shifted your pantyhose awkwardly as they began to ride up your ass. So much for new fashions. 

No broken hearts for us 'Cause we love each other And with our faith and trust There could be no other

You had already been to more interviews than you could count, and opportunities were starting to become scarce. For most employers money was tight, and you didn’t have an official secretarial certificate to fall back on. But you were talented, skilled, full of moxie, and today on this potentially mediocre Tuesday, that was all you needed. 

I think you're awfully sweet Why? Because I love you You say I'm your special treat Why? Because you love me

You nodded curtly at your beleaguered expression in the mirror, grabbing your coat and heading for the door.  You were determined to land this next employment, come hell or high-water, and were willing to do whatever it took. Well, ALMOST whatever it took, you noted, grabbing your thermos of coffee and heading for the bus stop. This Mr. Rockford P.I wouldn’t know what hit him, you mused, locking the door securely behind you and strutting forward confidently. At least you would try to look damn good...while you, once again, fell flat on your coifed face...

We found the perfect love Yes, a love that's yours and mine I love you and you love me I love you and you love me We'll love each other dear forever

Rockford had spent most of a sleepless night pouring over the many newspaper clippings he had accumulated about the Clutter Family Murders. Somehow the Moo Shu Pork remained relatively untouched. The trades could always be sensational, but the distinction of these reports was indicated by everything they DIDN’T say. This was a veritable bloodbath, which had done quite enough to set Tim off his much anticipated dinner. The main point of contention seemed to be the cause for such a grandiose and seemingly incomprehensible atrocity. The Clutter Family did not seem to possess extravagant monetary means. They were well-loved and admired by the town of Holcomb, Kansas; couldn’t have been more quintessentially traditional than apple pie.

What had gone wrong?

One newspaper clipping had stood out. Such was the descriptive narrative by a reporter named…Capote something…Rockford had all but obsessed on its picturesque description. 

“Until one morning in mid-November of 1959, few Americans-in fact, few Kansans had ever heard of Holcomb. Like the water of the river, like the motorists on the highway, and like the yellow trains streaking down the Santa Fe tracks, drama, in the shape of exceptional happenings, had never stopped there. The inhabitants of the village, numbering two hundred and seventy, were satisfied that this should be so, quite content to exist inside ordinary life-to work, to hunt, to watch television, to attend school socials, choir practice, meetings of the 4-H Club. But then, in the early hours of that morning in November, a Sunday morning, certain foreign sounds impinged on the normal nightly Holcomb noises on the keening hysteria of coyotes, the dry scrape of scuttling tumbleweed, the racing, receding wail of locomotive whistles. At the time, not a soul in sleeping Holcomb heard them-four shotgun blasts that, all told, ended four human lives. But afterward the townspeople, therefore sufficiently unfearful of each other to seldom trouble to lock their doors, found fantasy recreating them over and again-those somber explosions that stimulated fires of mistrust in the glare of which many old neighbors viewed each other strangely, and as strangers.”

Rockford issued a heavy sigh, dragging himself to his feet, pouring himself into the Ford Falcon and making a quick trip to the office. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with irritation and fatigue. Maybe a breakfast of whiskey and aspirin wasn’t TOTALLY out of order. He had started packing a small suitcase for the approaching trip, before realizing that most of his formative research and notes still remained at the office. Pulling into the parking lot of the building, his reliable Ford puttered to a smoky stop before Tim achingly lumbered up the stairs to his own office. Just ONE whiskey before the road. How many aspirin could you take on an empty stomach, he wondered before opening the door to find….

….the silkiest legs he had beholden in more time than he would care to admit.

The sounds of an imaginary saxophone seemed to permeate his now idling brain, as his eyes lugubriously dragged from the curving ankle up to the ironed skirt, and finally resting on the mischievous expression of an unknown female.

“Mr. Rockford, I presume?” you stood, outstretching a well-manicured hand into the dumbly, overstimulated countenance of a somewhat befuddled and handsomely disheveled private investigator.

“Ummmmm….” he stalled, simultaneously looking around the office to make sure nothing untoward lay in a public place. 

“I’m here for the secretarial interview” you immediately offered, as he kicked the door shut behind him, holding your hand tentatively in his surprisingly tender grasp.

A spark of acknowledgement flitted through his mind scape as he reconsidered the logic of a whisky chaser with breakfast. Damn. What a doll. Shame that I can’t investigate further, he lamented, dropping your hand with immediate chagrin and bustling about the office haphazardly.

“Look sweetheart, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m just on my way out with an important case. I’m sorry the agency wasted your time, but I’ve got little to no time for a person of your….skill” Rockford seemed to be bumbling with his words as he gathered the important documents and research loosely in his grasp. Your expression immediately fell with disappointment before morphing into a confident transformation.

“I’m not with an agency!” you piped up, starting to organize his desk, such as it were, and placing a smelly, used cigar in the nearby wastebasket. “I’m a go-getter, and a single gal of wit and resource. Looks like you could use all the help you can get!” you blurted out enthusiastically, grabbing the pile of papers from Rockford’s surprised hold and smoothing them into an organized pile. “Now if you’ll just show me where the typewriter is, I can get to work on notating this important case of yours” you insisted, nearly shoving him to the side and plopping down in the main office chair as it squeaked with impetulance.

Tim smiled ruefully to himself, opening the side drawer that revealed assorted contents of handcuffs, pencils, paperclips and aspirin. Well weren’t you a fire starter? Typical redhead. He winced with regret, massaging the back of his neck with discomfort. Get ahold of yourself, fella; no time for night time fantasies in the day. Just let her down easy and head towards the next steps of your future. “Look Miss….?”

“You can call me Red” you offered definitively, beginning to rifle through Rockford’s drawers in order to appear decisive, but gasping ever so slightly upon discovering what appeared to be a spare revolver in the lower chest. Clearing your throat immediately you sallied forth, brushing past his broad shoulders and beginning to organize the disastrously unkempt file cabinets in desperation. 

You could NOT lose this job opportunity. You would do whatever it took…and this Mr. Rockford could just get on board sooner rather than later. Rockford stood smiling behind you, with a knowing agitation. Maybe he could employ your services after the case, but it wasn’t going to be easy to throw you off of his scent. Maybe intimidation was the key...

“Familiar with the Clutter Family Murders?” he all but interrogated, reaching over to slam the file cabinet shut, a puff of air displacing your auburn locks and eliciting a fast flourish of your feather-like eyelashes.

“Of course” you lied. It’s possible you had read something fleeting in the local newspapers, but most of your attention had been focused on securing a new job as fast as was humanly possible. It had been a long trek to L.A. and you weren’t enthusiastic about returning to your mid-western roots, with your tail between your legs. Determined to make something of yourself in the City of Angels, you stared back at Rockford with what you hoped was a steely gaze of determination. Rockford’s glance lowered ever so quickly to the plump, reddish hue of your lipsticked mouth. 

Damn. “Look doll…I mean…Red…I don’t know the intricacies of this case, I’ve only just started. But based on the trades, the scene is about as colorful as that perky nickname of yours. Not easy fixin’s for the eyes of a lady, to say nothing of a doll….” Rockford bluntly stated, as a thin shade of embarrassment crept up your neck and into your cheeks.

Damn. “Mr. Rockford, I don’t know how many ‘dolls’ you’ve employed in the past, but I am no shrinking violet” you tried to quell the slight tremor that laced your voice. Probably just…the excitement of a new job opportunity. “I am more than capable of fulfilling any secretarial duties, whether the crime is polite or not” you nodded curtly, perhaps in an attempt to convince even yourself. Rockford gazed at you appraisingly with a degree of skepticism.

“I can’t pay you…much” Tim muttered, hesitantly considering the options before him. This was quite possibly the biggest case he had ever been invited to solve, and it didn’t escape him that he might need all the help he could get—even from a distracting broad like you. Your visage shifted ever so slightly with the changing balance of power.

“I’m very interested in gaining more experience” you blurted out a bit too quickly before confidently placing your hands on your hips. “I can type 60 words per minute and make a darn good cup of joe”. Almost as an afterthought you raced around the desk, grabbing your purse for the plaid thermos, unscrewing the top and hefting it under Rockford’s nose. Tim tilted his head to the side with cynicism.

“Travel per diem might be in order….” he considered, taking the thermos tentatively and sniffing with curiosity. This was better than whiskey. Or….better WITH whiskey, he sipped slowly at first, eventually draining the entire draught. Your mouth dropped with surprise at this new information.

“Travel?” you dumbly repeated, dropping the purse on the nearby chair and attempting not to sink down on top of it. What the hell? You had barely been in L.A one month and had yet to fully understand the transit system. Was your first job in this new life, already tearing you away from it? “Travel to where??” you doubled down, stubbornly unwilling to let go of this tantalizing opportunity just within your grasp.

“Holcomb, Kansas of course!” Rockford wiped his mouth with the back of a speckled hand, returning the thermos and now rifling through the drawers once again. Aspirin. Revolver. Binoculars….He begrudgingly thought better of actually retrieving the “breakfast whiskey”.

“KANSAS?!” the word escaped from your mouth like an accusation, trying to pin him down with incredulity and meeting his gaze with unadulterated surprise. “When?”

“That’d be now, sweets” Rockford offered, nodding curtly and lumbering out the door with a handful of files and assorted necessities as you looked around the office helplessly.  “Either way, thanks for the coffee, you’re a real doll. Meet you back here in an hour if you’re game. Otherwise, I’ll be seein’ ya…” his voice drifted down the hall as you stood with mouth agape.

He must be joking. Within thirty minutes of meeting Rockford P.I. you had a possible job, the promise of adventure and intrigue, and a questionable road trip with a man you hardly knew. What could possibly go wrong?

“Does that mean I’ve got the job?” you questioned, receiving no answer whatsoever and hearing a car puttering to life outside.

Well not if you just stand there, Red, you mused, gathering your things and taking one final glance around the office. “Catch you on the flip side!” you muttered to no one in particular, racing down the hallway and running towards the nearest bus stop. If you hurried, you could just make it.

Exactly one hour later, you felt ridiculous. Standing on the corner, with a small, humble suitcase, you felt like Little Orphan Annie. You bit your lower lip in frustration. If William could see you now, he would be laughing his ass off. You brushed the self-deprecating thought aside. Well, William isn’t here now, and it’s up to you. You heard the sound of the sputtering Ford Falcon before seeing it, as a smoky plume drifted into your peripheral view and Rockford P.I. loomed large before parking the car just beside you, the engine idling loudly.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come, Red” he smiled, opening the passenger door, and gesturing to the back. “Glad you packed light! Hoist it in the back will ya?” It seemed you had passed the point of no return, as you hefted your small suitcase atop boxes of newspapers, a small typewriter, baseball bat and other assorted mysteries. You hesitated just a moment before wiping down the dusted passengers seat and noting the myriad of cigarettes populating the nearby ash tray.

“How ‘bout it doll? Ready for an adventure?” Rockford asked rhetorically, before the engine roared to life in response. Your answer died quickly on your lips before settling in your stomach with a heaviness that betrayed the fluttering curiosity in your chest. Only one way to find out…

@littlemisspascal  @lizette50 @beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya  @schnarfer @devineconjuring @mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @guiltyasdave  @copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @yorksgirl @quicax3 @shaunasflannel @shinyanchorobject

Pedro at the Beach

Ah! This turned out a little better than I was expecting! I didn't get to do as much sewing as I wanted, but featuring some Pablo Neruda poetry and my handy dandy PP coloring book among other things... We know our guy likes the beach...

Baby's Beats

I love combining reality with fantasy, and while I'm sure this isn't a new Tumblr concept, I'm going to be cataloguing our Pedro Boys as per Pedge's suggestions! All playlists will utilize music or groups that Pedro Pascal has referenced at some point. Get your Apple earbuds and enjoy!

Triggers: music may involve profanity and adult topics, short description of character's interactions with music, smut, substances--RPF vibes but Pedge is just my fictional avatar for the glory that is Pedro Pascal...

Pedge's Jukebox

Baby's Beats (Spotify)

*Baby Pedge, who will not be caught DEAD singing karoake in public...unless he's bored...or lonely...or tipsy.... *Pedge who cannot help himself if the Xanadu Soundtrack starts, and will immediately begin dancing and biting his lower lip *Pedge who MUST have earbuds at all times, not just to eventually secure his Apple gig, but also to listen to tunes on the busy New York streets *Obviously spent a summer in Madrid as a go-go dancer and cannot shake those groovy 70's vibes...who would want to? *Listens to his favorite soundtracks to hype himself up for important auditions *Creates a different playlist for every theatrical and cinematic character he plays, in order to get in the right headspace *Enjoys a night of relaxation with a substance/beverage of choice, whether alone or partnered with the soundtrack of the evening *When dating or friendshipping, enjoys making a playlist for his beloveds, as something to remember him during work absences *Is VERY nostalgic when listening to music that moves him, and sometimes cannot do so in public without bursting into tears *Is happiest when on the dance floor, with friends, drink in hand, pulsing to the music and forgetting his troubles *Would be delighted to learn about his future dancing opportunities with "Happy Socks" and "Apple", but disgruntled to learn that he somewhat missed his musical cue on SNL 50 Special...#heyheyheyman

*thank you @kodaswrld for the cool dividers!

@lizette50 @beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya  @schnarfer @devineconjuring @mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @guiltyasdave  @copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @yorksgirl @quicax3 @shaunasflannel @shinyanchorobject

Pinterest Mood Boards

Thanks @inept-the-magnificent for that fun Pinterest prompt, it made me realize how much I enjoy those quick little vibes and snacks. Pop on Pinterest and select your top 5 images for celebrity, beverage, fashion, aesthetic and style. Meanwhile, what if we tried a Moodboard Monday?

I know Papi, if only the answers always came so easily...

Pedro Boys

Pedge and I have FINALLY started writing fics for the Pedro Boys and we wanted to have a spot where they could all catch up! Check out the masterlist below!

Pedro Pascal Pedge Cuddle Couch New York, New York Series Baby's Beats (short) Javi Gutierrez Afterglow: Phoenix Rising Marcus Pike Charcuterie Challenge A Different Happy Ending Pike's Place Pike's Playlist (short)

Frankie Morales Moody Frankie Frankie's Favorites (short) Joel Miller Moody Joel Peach and Apple Pie Crime and Punishment Joel's Jives (short) Max Phillips Blood Sucking Witch Max's Mix (short) Javier Pena Afterglow Series Pena's Playlist (short) Dieter Bravo Yes Chef! My Darling Muse Dieter's Deets (short) Marcus Moreno Thanksgiving Delights Din Djarin Unmasked Platonic Love

Pedge the Therapist

Hey folks! Pedge and I have been enjoying some of our @pedroscouts summer activities. He wanted me to take a moment to remind you of some important self-help concepts! There are so many challenges you might encounter even when you find yourself on your summer vacation! Don't forget to chillax a little, grab a drink and remind yourself of what you are grateful for!

I confess today I found myself stuck in my cabin almost all day long! I wasn't really feeling much in the mood for a hike. But Pedge reminded me that tomorrow is a new day and going out for a brisk walk can help to set your mood a-right!

Taking some special time to chat with your friends during those stressful moments or making new friends with your fellow camp mates might make a big difference! You are so friendly and valuable! Everyone enjoys your presence.

Or maybe it's a good moment to get yourself a little treat! You've been working very hard and you deserve a special reward! Scout cookies may not be in your cabin, but some yummy vegetables or a summer sweet might hit the spot!

In short, don't forget to enjoy all of your summer camp activities and don't forget to be good to yourself and be good to others! By golly Pedge is thankful you're alive!

Now gather around the fire for some sexy stories before night night and tuck yourself into bed! You've got a big day ahead of you and the world is yours to conquer! Thanks @pedroscouts for inspiring us this summer!

@goodwithcheese

The One With Pedge + J

I'm the new kid in class. You know the one. I’m wearing glasses, sitting in the corner, freckled face; academic nerd. I’ve arrived in my “freshman year” and am watching the seniors show me how it’s done. I’m not sure what graduation involves, but Pedge and I are excited about that consummation.

Recently I’ve noticed an influx of bullies and thieves who seem to be on the literary prowl. Pedge and I are blocking accounts right and left, and covering all our bases for the 5 people who read my Tumblr page and I’ve been particularly impressed with several writers of note. Another writer has taken the time to invest in an evolution, and decided to focus on their expressions of creativity in new and exciting ways. While enthusiastically supporting any artistic shift a writer wants to make, Pedge and I are disgruntled that anyone would feel bullied or exploited.

Pedge and I enjoy our sexy time therapy, and a lot of that involves a healthy self image and celebration of bodies in all forms. Pedge tells me he is currently filming his upcoming Marvel Spectacular “The Fantastic Four” and is excited to play a character that can assume any shape that they want! I see many sexy time benefits in our future. I’ve told him that some writers have been bullied for their celebration of bodies in ALL forms. It seems to me that they call them “love handles” for a reason. Yes Pedge, we can do that thing with your belly button again this evening, though we are starting to run out of edible wax.

Pedge reminds me that he has spent a great deal of time enjoying the complexities of the human form. Whether delightfully squishy, muscular, soft, hard, pliant, normative, skilled or inexperienced, there truly is something for everyone. Pedge reminds me that one of his favorite songs is by Princess Nokia who similarly celebrates their form in ALL of its splendor.

So, to wrap up….excuse me…yes, Pedge, even though we did not go to the gym today we are allowed to have chocolate chip cookies. We’re just going to have to find some other physical means of burning calories later tonight, if we so desire. Sorry about that…What was I saying? Oh yes. Pedge and I will be holding on to our love handles, and not letting go anytime soon. We remind everyone to be good to yourself and be good to others. There are so many things in this life that are temporary, let’s make sure that love isn’t one of them.