Tiger Lilies and Roses
Summary: Alex goes shopping. Third party POV.
Pairing: Skinner/Krycek/Kim - from the Like a Girl universe
Dedication: A little snippet for Ursula. I started this back in
February, and never got around to finishing it until today. Totally
beta-free, and unfortunately spank-free. :( Sorry! If the ep wasn't
going to be airing in an hour, I'd work on finishing it. But the
clock has run out, I'm afraid. {sob}
Feedback To: K2_fanfic@yahoo.com
From the back, the man staring into the cooler of flowers looked no
more than seventeen years old. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched
him jiggling his foot as he wandered from one end of the display to
the other, inspecting each bucket of flowers carefully before moving
on to the next. I couldn't catch a glimpse of his face, but the
leather jacket and faded blue jeans looked well-worn, hugging his
delectable frame nicely. His discomfort and confusion in trying to
make a selection radiated off him, which had lent itself to my age
estimation. It's always the teenaged boys looking for their first
Valentine's Day gift who tend to have the most trouble deciding.
I hadn't seen him come in, since the shop was jammed with just-one-
day-to-go shoppers. The week before Valentine's Day is always
extremely busy; but the day before is a nightmare. Don't even get me
started on the big day itself. If someone could buy flowers at
11:59pm on February 14th, I think they'd do it. It's forever the last-
minute shoppers who want the hugest arrangement. But really, I
shouldn't complain - this is the one day of the year that supports me
through the leaner months. And bringing joy to people, watching their
faces explode in delight as they realize that someone loves them
enough to overlook the Hallmark sappiness of the holiday and still
make an effort, makes all the overtime and headaches worth it.
Miraculously, even with my assistant on her break, I was able to
handle all the customers with relative ease. By the time the last one
had left the shop, I'd had an opportunity to re-assess the boy's age.
Not a boy at all. No, this one was unequivocally a man; and a
beautiful one at that. My attention was dragged repeatedly down to
his lovely, lovely butt; denim had to be the luckiest cloth around to
be invited to drape that ass. When I finally got a glimpse of his
face, angelic and devilish at the same time, the only decent thought
I had was that he didn't need to send flowers to anyone. The gift of
himself would be all any person in their right mind would ever want
or need.
Okay, maybe a few rose petals scattered around his naked body,
stretched languidly on satin sheets. *That* would make a memorable
Valentine's Day, that's for damn sure.
I had to resist the need to close up shop, and head home for a cold
shower.
Once everyone was gone, I left the relative safety of the counter,
and made my way over to him. So engrossed in looking inside the
cooler, he didn't seem to notice I was standing a little closer than
necessary. The scent of leather and that irresistibly male musky odor
wafted toward me as I stood beside him, followed by the much fainter
aroma of peaches. Damn, he was an attractive man. Whoever was about
to be the recipient of his generosity was a lucky, lucky woman.
"Have you decided on what type of message you'd like to send with
your gift?" I asked quietly.
He shot a rapid glance in my direction, startled out of his reverie.
The olive green of his irises was more vibrant and alive than half
the plants I'd spent untold hours tending. And his mouth...good God.
Full lips of a delicate pink hue. Lips that looked soft and eminently
chewable. A mouth you could dive into and explore for hours, and
never quite find what you were seeking.
A mouth that was moving. Oh no, he was responding, and I was too busy
fantasizing to hear the words.
"...thought I'd just write Happy Valentine's Day," those addictive
lips said. "Why, isn't that what most people write on their cards?"
"Yes it is. I meant what kind of message you wanted the flowers to
send." Waving a hand toward the wide variety of roses, I went
on, "Each flower has a different meaning. For example, red roses
signify true love and desire."
His eyebrows scrunched together, as he glanced from the cooler and
back to me. "What do the yellow ones mean?"
"Those vary on your interpretation. Some say they mean joy and
gladness, others say friendship."
His look grew more pained, and I bit back a smile at his unease. He
hesitated before speaking again. "Are there any that mean something
in between?"
"In between?" I hedged. I know I was being petty in forcing him to
explain further, but he was just so beautiful I want to prolong the
encounter as long as possible. And he apparently wasn't in love with
the gift recipient, or at least he didn't want to express that just
yet. Not that I presumed to have any chance with him; I'm a lot of
things, but stupid isn't one of them. But the impulse to know just
one thought that ran through that lovely head was strong, and I gave
into it.
"Um, maybe something that means...ah, I care about you," he said
quietly, a faraway look in his eye. His whole demeanor suddenly
softened, as a mental image of whomever he was thinking of flashed
through his mind. Hey, I'm a florist; I deal with people who are
falling in love, or are in love, everyday. I know the sentiment when
I see it. You don't buy flowers for casual acquaintances; you buy
them for the people who mean the most to you.
Feeling a tad guilty for overstepping my bounds, I let the poor man
off the hook, and walked him through each definition. "All flowers
convey that you care. But roses specifically have a variety of other
meanings as well. Pink typically are for admiration, white is for
pure love, coral is desire, lavender is love at first sight, and
orange means fascination and enthusiasm."
I swear, if his eyebrows knotted any tighter together, he could tie a
bow with them. As we walked down the length of the cooler, I pointed
to each color behind the refrigerated glass. He stopped at the orange
ones.
"Those are probably the best, but..."
"They're not the prettiest?" I supplied. Orange roses are my least
favorite; they look like someone dipped them in Cheetos powder.
He gave a little surprised laugh. "Yeah. Um, is this something that
all girls know?"
"Pardon me?"
"Is this something that all women know?" he repeated. "Is there a
manual about this stuff or something?"
"No." I bit my cheek to prevent my chuckle from escaping. "Most may
know about the significance of red roses, but the others, it's not
necessarily common knowledge."
"Hmph. I bet she knows," he said, almost to himself. He glanced back
at the cooler. "Can you show me the rest, and explain their hidden
meanings, too? If it's not too much trouble, that is."
His look accompanying his request could only be defined as shy. That
choirboy look, when combined with his bad boy stance, was Swoon City.
Lord have mercy on my decrepit soul, but I think at that moment I
would have sold my beloved grandchild to the devil for the chance to
shave forty years off my age, and have a go at this man myself.
With an earnest smile, I walked him through the rest of the displays,
pointing at certain pre-made bouquets, describing how in many cases
it's not the history of the flower that has meaning, but often the
shape or color of the petal that lends itself to implying an emotion.
Sometimes the blossom simply reminds us of a person, either their
coloring or their character. He followed me throughout the store,
nodding and listening with an intense gaze. When our tour was
complete, he gave me a devastating and pleased smile.
"I appreciate this. Can I take a few minutes to decide?"
"Of course. I'll be over at the counter when you're ready."
When I got back to the counter, I forced myself not to stare again at
his perfectly-proportioned ass as he wandered seemingly aimlessly in
the front of the displays. By this point, I was hoping he'd make his
choice quick, because I needed to get into the cooler just to get my
heart rate back down to normal.
After another ten minutes of quiet, just as I was beginning to wonder
why there hadn't been any customers in well over an hour, he walked
over to where I stood, and placed a wad of cash on the wood of the
counter. From the size of the bankroll, I estimated it was enough to
buy...
"All of them," he said in a decisive tone.
"All the rose--"
"No. All the flowers in the store."
Okay, I'll admit it: I gaped at him.
"S-some of them are pre-paid for," I stuttered. Never in forty-two
years has anyone walked into my shop and coolly purchased every damn
blossom in their line of vision. In cash. "Valentine's Day is
tomorrow, and a lot of peo--"
"That's fine," he replied, all traces of boyish shyness gone. What
stood before me now was a man of supreme confidence. Believe me when
I tell you his demeanor was almost more attractive than his hesitant
one. "You don't have to disappoint any of your other customers. I
just want to buy the rest of them."
"Especially those," he said, pointing to a vase of tiger lilies. The
orange-red petals were hanging over the edges of the glass, the
delicate shape of the blossom offset by their vivid color. "They
remind me of her."
I hated to disappoint him, but there wasn't any choice. "Those have
already been purchased. I specially ordered them for him."
Green eyes looked at me with frank curiosity. "Him? His name wouldn't
happen to be Walter, by any chance?"
"Why, yes it is," I answered, too surprised to think up a reason why
I shouldn't disclose a regular's name.
"Figures." The man snorted and shook his head. "Well then, I'll trust
your judgment in sending the rest. I'd like them delivered tomorrow,
to this address."
He slid a business card out of his breast pocket and handed it to me.
I recognized the name instantly; I've been delivering tiger lilies to
Kimberly Cook for a while now. Courtesy of the very same Walter that
this beautiful stranger and I were just discussing.
"One more thing," the man said. I looked up from the card in my hand
to peer into those sexy, smiling eyes one last time. "Please send two
dozen of the red roses to the same address, but to a different name."
I picked up a pen to scratch the name on the back of Kim's card.
Looked like the two-timing Miss Cook was about to get some
competition for the green-eyed delight's affections.
"Go ahead."
"Send the red roses to Walter Skinner."
My, my, my. I had to keep my head down facing the card so as not to
display my open curiosity. Mr. Skinner has been to the shop many
times, and is no slouch in the looks department himself. He sends
flowers to Miss Cook, this young man sends flowers to both Mr.
Skinner and Miss Cook...perhaps the young lady isn't two-timing
anyone. Washington's an interesting city, but it's rare that things
get *this* interesting. Where the hell were these two gorgeous
creatures when *I* was young?
"Is there a message you want to send?" I asked, pushing my envy back
into the corner where it belonged. "On their cards, that is."
"Happy Valentine's Day, Love Alex."
With one last devastating smile and a nod of thanks, he strolled out,
whistling tunelessly as he walked.
I followed him to the doorway, flipped the sign to "Closed" and got
busy preparing the bouquets. Not only did I not have to deal with any
last-minute shoppers, but I was going to get a glimpse at the shocked
look on Kimberly Cook's face when I, and a battalion of helpers,
walked down the hall of the FBI, with all of these flowers.
Add to my enjoyment the look on Walter Skinner's face when he saw
*his* bouquet, and this had suddenly shaped up to be my best
Valentine's Day yet.
Thank *you*, Alex, I thought as I placed one Cheeto-orange rose in a
small vase on the edge of the counter for myself. Miss Cook would
never miss it.
THE END