A/N: Hey everyone! I'm a huge sucker for Thomas/Angelica and when I saw there aren't nearly enough fics for these two idiots, I wrote one myself. Enjoy!

{I Didn't Call}

"Schuyler." The cop, Lafayette, calls out her name like she isn't the only one in the cell. The key twists. The gate creaks as it opens, a door shaped hole screaming freedom at her.

Angelica eyes it with suspicion, rolling her neck until she hears a satisfying crack. She's been stiff for the last hour, counting the lines in her jail cell for entertainment.

"Bail's been paid."

Her eyes narrow suspiciously as she climbs to her feet. Her spine pops a bit, her knees cracking as she stands. "How?"

Not that she's complaining. She hates jail cells. Lafayette's not quite as talkative as some guards, but she's also had worse. The problem is, she never called anyone. She could never bring herself to call her sisters, or her father for that matter. It just becomes a wasted phone token.

She tried to give it away once.

That didn't lead anywhere good.

"I don't care how, Schuyler. Get the hell out of my cell. Your stone-faced thing creeps me out."

Angelica nods slowly, stepping out of the cell. Part of her thinks she might be dreaming, that this is a game. That's happened before too, but not since she was a kid. The cell door closes, but behind her, after she's obtained her freedom.

"Let's get you signed out."

Signed out, like she got in trouble and was sent to the principal's office instead of carted away in handcuffs just because she was at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Angelica tugs on her jacket as another uniform opens the door for her, and she steps out into the lobby. She almost steps back inside, bumping into Lafayette who gives her a dirty look.

She should have known, but it hadn't crossed her mind. It shouldn't have been him standing there.

He was.

Thomas Jefferson, in all of his tired, disappointed demeanor, waiting for his ex-girlfriend to get out of jail. The sight of him is enough to make her… A lot of things. Tired comes to mind, though, a quiet exhaustion that sweeps over her, limb to limb, muscle to nerve. She didn't call, but it doesn't surprise her that he knew.

That he paid.

"I'll pay you back," Angelica says as she marches past him.

She has to get back some kind of nerve, some foot holding. Because he's definitely seen the way she paused and panicked, and she doesn't want to have that conversation with him. Again.

"That's it?" Thomas immediately follows her out of the station.

"Thank you. I'll pay you back."

She's not surprised when his hand is on her wrist, or when he stops her, or when he turns her around.

"You wouldn't have to keep paying me back if you stopped getting caught."

Her brow furrows as she glares at him. Thomas tries to keep his normal composure, but it's the small catch of worry that doesn't push her entirely over.

"Nobody is asking you to pay for my bail."

"If I didn't, who would?"

Angelica sighs and gently shakes her wrist loose of his grip. "If I called–"

"You won't."

"Because–"

"You want me to pay your bail."

"No."

"Really?"

He lets out a frustrated breath, raking his hand through his hair and just has that look in his eyes that she knows all too well.

She searches his face and hates how much she's missed it and how much she wants to see him and how she sometimes does stupid shit to see how long it'll take for him to find her again.

Never long, is the answer.

After all, the Secretary of State can't have a criminal girlfriend.

"I'll pay you back," Angelica repeats, lamely. Stupidly. Her mouth is pressed into a firm line as she stares him down.

There's a moment where she assumes he'll sigh and turn around, like always. But this time, this time there's a quirk of his mouth that could be called a smile.

"You haven't yet," Thomas points out.

"I keep getting caught."