Save the Date! (12 page)

It had been two days, and the couple that was supposed to be getting married in a few weeks' time had barely even spoken to each other. Gemma only addressed
Dixon when it was necessary, and he seemed to feel the same way when it came to her. They had to spend much of their time together due to the fact that it was his job, and despite the fact that Dixon was still as mad at her as she was at him, he still cared about her and didn't want her to get hurt.

He was still unsure as to why he had snapped at her. To be honest,
Dixon had never really liked talking about Eva since their separation.

It was odd; Gemma made him feel so different, different than anything he had ever felt before, even when he was supposed to have been in love with Eva. Maybe it was the age difference; she saw things in a different way than he did, but that wasn't necessarily bad. In fact, he was interested in what Gemma had to say concerning nearly every matter
(except, of course, Gerard Butler, but Dixon would never admit to being jealous of someone famous). And she was so warm and open while Eva was cool and calculating. He had thought he was supposed to be with someone like Eva, someone like him. But… Well, apparently, that wasn't the case.

Dixon
wasn't sure when – if – he would apologize to the woman currently occupying his thoughts, though he knew he probably should, and sometime soon, seeing as how they had a scheduled engagement party where family and friends and… He didn't want to think about it, actually. But he wasn't yet keen on apologizing, at least not yet.

---

Gemma, her mind currently in the same arena as Dixon's, was trying to distract the fact that Dixon had yet to apologize by going to a party Troy had invited her to without actually telling Dixon. He had texted her the invite and she would have said no if Dixon hadn't been so incredibly rude to her. But he was and so her answer was her way of revenge. She was going, and she was standing in front of her full-length mirror, trying to decide if the outfit she was planning on wearing was too slutty. She cocked her head to the side and bit her bottom lip, still unsure. She would have loved to invite Gillian over, but apparently Dana Carvey was going to be on David Letterman and she didn't want to risk missing it, despite the fact that it wouldn't be on for another five hours.

She finally decided on black, boot-cut jeans that were low cut and tight, and a cranberry colored corset-like top that formed around her body, but actually masked her breasts save for a slight portion of cleavage quite well. She decided to keep her hair long and wavy, and though she didn't particularly like makeup, she put some eyeliner and mascara on in order to make her eyes pop even more than they already did. On her feet were knee-length faux-leather black boots worn outside of the jeans.

It wasn't too slutty, but it definitely wasn't conservative.

On her way down the stairs, something inside of her hoped that
Dixon would be in the living room and stop her from leaving. They could apologize and instead of her going to a party, they could catch a late night movie at a nearby theatre. Except he wasn't in the living room. He was probably in his room doing God knows what he usually did. And so with no reason to stop, she grabbed her keys and headed out the door, heading to a party she didn't want to go to because her pride wouldn't let her do anything otherwise.

---

He hadn't heard her in a half an hour and that started to worry him.

Dixon
headed up the stairs to her room, and he was thankful her door was slightly ajar so he could look through it without having to knock and then have some sort of awkward confrontation. But when he did look in, he realized it was empty. The whole house was empty save for him. She had left. But where?

All the color drained from his face as he burst into her room, his blue eyes frantically searching for any sort of clue it had to offer. He was actually on the verge of calling Gillian when his eyes caught sight of the bulletin board. Though his body was tense, he tried to focus his frantic thoughts in order to properly scan the notes her parents had written to her in order to remind her of something. But there, in the bottom right corner was a note she had written to herself using today's date.
Troy's house. Party. 7:30pm.

For whatever reason,
Dixon felt his body surge with anger. Whether it was directed at Gemma or Troy, he couldn't figure out. It was probably Troy for illogical reasons, but he was slightly offended by Gemma's choice at actually going to the party. Then again, she was mad at him after all.

Well, it didn't matter.
Dixon would go to the party and fetch Gemma, even if he had to toss her over his shoulder to get her out of the house. And finding the house? All it would take him was one call.

Working for the CIA definitely had its benefits.

---

Gemma
regretted her decision from the moment she stepped into the house. The music was loud and obnoxious, the house was already filled with people she didn't know and didn't want to learn more about, and everyone was drunk. Gemma didn't really drink; there was that one time with Gillian, but it was so hard for her to actually swallow the alcohol and after waking up with a hangover… No. No drinking. Which was silly because she had come to a party. There were only three reasons people came to a party; sex, drugs, and alcohol, and Gemma really didn't do any of those things so she knew she wouldn't enjoy an actual party. Which, of course, was fine.

She just shouldn't have come.

Before she could turn around and leave, Troy gently touched her shoulder. "Gems!" he exclaimed. "I'm so glad you could make it!"

Gemma was a few feet away from Troy, but already she could smell the booze laced with his breath. She scrunched and tilted her head, hoping to avoid the stench.

"So, where's that guy?" Troy asked, glancing around. "Is he here?"

"No," Gemma murmured, shaking her head, though somewhere, deep down, she wanted him there. She was feeling uncomfortable. "No, my fiancé is not here."

A smile slid across Troy's face as he regarded her. "Good," he said, nodding. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something." Though his face was serious, he was still drunk and it took him a while before he finally could look Gemma in the eye. "Um… I've seen you staring at me during the classes we shared last semester, and I'm gonna be honest… I thought –
think
– you're way hot. And, um, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out with me?"

"Are you serious?" Gemma asked flatly, pushing her brow together.

"Ah, I knew you'd say yes!" he said with a grin, and then took a step towards her and forced his lips onto hers. Apparently he had mistaken her question with one of surprise rather than sarcasm.

Gemma took her hands and pushed Troy away. "I'm engaged!" she exclaimed as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't want to go out with you. I especially don't want to kiss you."

"You don't know what you're saying," Troy said, and moved in to kiss her once again.

Before he could, however, someone grabbed his arm and turned him around.

The fact that Dixon was there wasn't exactly what had surprised Gemma. The look on his face, the sharpness of his cold blue eyes – that's what stunned her in surprise. He glared at Troy long and hard before he reached back and socked Troy across the face. The sound echoed throughout Gemma's mind, and she flinched at the sound. She always knew Dixon was strong, but she didn't exactly realize his capabilities until she had seen – heard – what he could do.

Although, to be honest, a drunken Troy was kind of an easy target.

Then, without warning, Dixon walked up to Gemma, picked her up, and threw her over his shoulder. Surprisingly, she didn't protest, but that was probably because she didn't want to be here anyways. He walked over to where he had parked his car and opened the passenger door before setting her inside. He walked around and slid into the driver's seat, starting the car before glancing at her.

"We can come back for your car tomorrow," he told her in his crisp, cold tone.

Gemma nodded her agreement, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm still mad at you," she told him, pointedly holding back a relieved smile.

The week seemed to fly by for both Dixon and Gemma. Gemma was getting used to her classes, and Dixon was keen on taking her to school every day and picking her up afterwards. The two didn't jump back to how they used to be before Gemma had asked about his past and Dixon had responded with a snap, but they were getting there. The formal apology didn't take place until Friday, when Gemma didn't have any classes and she was sitting on the couch, watching one of her movies. She forgave him, partly because she wanted to get along during the engagement party her parents were throwing at the house tomorrow and partly because she was sick of being mad at him. It was time consuming and took a lot out of her. It was easier for Gemma to be happy compared to holding a grudge, and she didn't want to do it anymore. So she accepted his apology and the two had sat together, watching the romantic comedy.

When Saturday morning rolled around, Carlene was in a tizzy. She left five different notes on Gemma's bull
etin board before heading out the door with a list of everything she had to do today, including quadruple check on the catering, go over the guest list, make sure there was a limo picking up Dixon's brother at the airport, and so on and so forth. Brent was quite amused with his wife's outbursts, until, of course, she directed her frustrations at him, managing to enlist him with helping her see that everything was done. So at about eight thirty that morning, both Carlene and Brent had left, and probably wouldn't be returning until a couple of hours before the actual party in order to have enough time to get dressed.

Because Gemma could hear her mother bustling about, she had gotten up at eight, fixed herself a bowl of mini wheat's cereal for breakfast, and then plopped on the couch while grabbing the remote control in hopes to find some actual Saturday morning cartoon. Sadly, a bunch of channels had gone computer-animated, which just wasn't the same. Where
was
Scooby Doo
, and other old school cartoons that practically defined Saturday mornings? She felt sorry for this generation's batch of kids and the lousy cartoons they had to endure.

Dixon
joined her at around nine, his lips quirking up when he realized she was watching
Law and Order: Special Victim's Unit
. Apparently there was some sort of marathon on, but then again, wasn't there
always
some kind of marathon on?

"There're
no good cartoons, so I'm watching this," she explained when she saw his inquiring eyes.

"Ah," he said before nodding his head a couple of times. The two were relatively silent during the show, but when a commercial came up, he glanced over at Gemma's sharp profile and studied it for a moment before asking,
"So are you nervous about tonight?"

Gemma locked eyes with him after setting her empty bowl on the coffee table and pursed her lips together, deep in thought. "I don't think so," she said softly. "I mean, it's all
fake. There's no real reason I
should
be nervous, right?"

Dixon
raised his brow and cocked his head to the side, opening his mouth in order to respond before shutting it.

Gemma was about to ask what he was about to say, but she changed her mind. "Are
you
?" she decided to inquire, perking her brows.

"Like you said,"
Dixon said, giving her a teasing grin. "It's all a charade. There's no real reason why I should be nervous."

"Except I am," Gemma said quickly. "I mean, I know that you and me – we're not like
that
or anything, but I don't want to embarrass anyone and I just… I don't know who to be when I'm facing all of these people. I hate lying because I'm really bad at it. And only you, me, my mom and my dad know that you and me aren't really getting married. It's like we're playing this huge prank on all of these people, on our family and friends."

"You do realize that your life is in danger?"
Dixon asked in a soft voice, wrapping his long fingers gently around her wrist.  She couldn’t help but stare at it; he wasn’t one for physical contact unless he was throwing her over his shoulder like some Neanderthal. "Yes, we're basically lying to our friends and family. I don't like it either. But I would do it a thousand times over if it meant that it would save your life."

Gemma's eyes were on her hands currently resting in her lap, a light blush caressing her cheeks. "I just," she began, her voice soft and breathless. "I just don't understand why they're threatening
me
."

"Your father is incredibly important,"
Dixon said. "I know that you know this but I don't think you grasp the concept of just how important he is. But," he began, his eyes burning into hers. "I promise that I won't let anything happen to you. You know that, don't you?"

Gemma couldn't get herself to speak, so she
pressed her lips together and nodded.

---

At five fifteen, Dixon grasped the concept of the situation he was in. His brother would be here any minute – hopefully not drunk or high - and he would no doubt be judging Gemma to his black heart’s content. Dixon was in the middle of getting dressed, with black slacks, polished black shoes, a white wife beater, and a nice, pressed collared shirt that was left unbuttoned for now. But his fingers couldn't do anything more to aide him upon finishing until he had a very serious conversation with Gemma.

When he knocked on her bedroom door, he realized she was still probably getting ready. However, not a moment passed before she arrived, wearing a towel wrapped around her hair and a bathrobe. She must have just gotten out of the shower.

"Hey," she said, throwing him a relaxed smile. "What's up? Is everything okay?"

"Yes,"
Dixon replied, nodding his head once. "Do you mind if I talk to you for a minute? It'll only take a minute."

Gemma nodded and stood back, allowing
Dixon to walk into the room. She closed the door and leaned against it before raising her brows slowly, inquiring as to what he wanted to talk about.

"Right,"
Dixon said, and at that moment, Gemma realized he was nervous. She would have giggled at the prospect had the emotion not tainted his facial features. "My brother is coming in for this engagement party and there are some things you should probably know about him."

She
nodded once again, chewing the bottom of her lip.

"Okay." He sighed through his nose, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to say. He ran his fingers through his hair before l
ocking eyes with her. "My brother is a crack addict alcoholic who will no doubt make a comment or two about your” – he gestured with his hands at her chest.  “He’s a terrible human being.  But he’s my brother.  When things went bad with my parents, he stuck with me.  Well, I guess I stuck with him.  He’s the reason I was recruited to the FBI in the first place."

She pushed her brow together.  “What?” she
asked, genuinely confused.

“I know you’re
gonna wanna talk about this, and I get it, I do, but I just want you to know not to take anything personally,” Dixon told her.

"I don't understand," Gemma said, cocking her head to the side and crossing her arms over her chest. "What do I have to worry about?"

"You're young," Dixon stated, looking her in her eyes. "Very young. At least compared to me. And you're not southern so he’s gonna equate that with being rich.  And that’s another thing. You’re wealthy."

"Fine," Gemma said, her eyes focused on the floor. She nodded once before clenching her jaw. "I'll make sure I don't embarrass you."

"That's not what I mean," he told her quickly, reaching out towards her and placing his firm hands on her shoulders so she had no choice but to lock eyes with him. "It wasn't supposed to come out that way." He paused as though he suddenly realized the close proximity between the two. However, this did not deter him from breaking the contact between them, nor did he reposition himself. He would never admit it, but he liked being close to her. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you so you wouldn't be caught off guard by one of my brother's behavior. It's not personal; he's just being…"

"A crack addict alcoholic
?" Gemma asked, half-smiling though it did not quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, I understand. But you should know that everybody likes me."

Dixon
grinned and leaned his head towards her own, wanting her to see everything his eyes wouldn't say. "I have no doubt," he said, squeezing her shoulders as he did so.

Gemma felt her breath hitch, and she knew that if she didn't say anything, move away from him soon, she would push to the tips of her toes and claim his lips with hers. "Yes, well," she sa
id, her voice suddenly low and scratchy. "I promise to be your little Stepford wife. But I should probably start getting ready."

"Of course,"
Dixon said, releasing his hold on her and taking a step back. "Thank you again, Gemma."

Gemma watched him walk away.  It was only then that she realized he had talked to her. 
About his past.  Of his own free will.  She smiled to herself as she made her way back into her bedroom to finish getting ready.