AN: I've been promising an M-rated piece in the same style as 'My Own Prison' and I'd hate to disappoint.


You're not sure what it was that possessed you to agree to this. Perhaps it was the thrill of finally venturing into the field. Or the need to show your colleagues that you, in fact, were not completely incapable. But it's the little voice in your mind that's winning out, saying it's a chance to show Harry what you're capable of.

After the disaster that your first; and only; foray into fieldwork produced, you're keen on portraying a stronger image. To him. And yes, to the rest of the world. But mainly him.

So far, it's not going that way.


It all started towards the beginning of the week.

Intelligence had come through of a potential domestic threat originating in the northwestern woods of England. Not your typical place to find people plotting the downfall of a nation, but then, terrorists were getting smarter.

The morning briefing had done nothing more than set out potential research avenues. Ones that you had spent the next three days digging through databases, seeking information through channels not fully legit but not illegal either.

And then it happened.

You found the bit that made the case that a full investigation was needed. To figure some way of infiltrating the groups camp.

The only hitch was finding an active field agent to not raise suspicions.

And where did one find a 50-something English male?

Oh.

Right.


Which is how you've found yourself huddled in your down jacket; icey rain beating upon your head; in the middle of nowhere. Night isn't too far off and any chances of the cavalry riding in to save the two of you is slim to none.

The welcoming party the two of you met upon arriving had seen to that.

Four flat tyres and cut battery cables coupled with the crushing of your mobiles ensured they wouldn't be finding you any time soon.

Add in the fact that you're not to check in until Sunday night after tea and it's going to be a long two days.

In the rain.

Alone with Harry.


The inside of the woodman's cottage is doing little to keep the winter winds out but at least its dry. Mostly. Harry has left you alone to try and find anything to make the night more comfortable while he tries to gather enough dry wood to get you through the night.

He hadn't held out much hope.

You've had little more luck inside, only finding an old, thick sleeping bag to pad the floor and some moth-eaten blankets. As well as two camp pillows.

A few tins of beans, a sleeve of water biscuits, and a sealed water jug were the only salvageable food in the cabinets.

Leaning over the empty fireplace, you gather the last of the dead leaves and twigs that have gathered there over the years; carrying them to the pile you've made in the corner.

All three feet away.

Brushing your hands together, you try and clear the dirt from them. There's no running water in the cottage and you're loath to open the only source of seemingly fresh water for something as trivial as dirty hands. No, a little dirt never hurt anyone.

You look around, taking in the small space you'll likely inhabit for the next few days at least. It's really only a small room, maybe 10 foot x 10 foot, with a small water closet to the right of the fireplace and a locked door to the left. You'd tried finding a key to open the door but nothing worked.

To the east and to the west, there's an old window, the wind seeping through framing where it had sagged with age.

You pull your wet coat tighter and continue your search with a sigh, hoping that the book shelves and chest by the east window hold something promising. You're just stretching to a box on the top shelf when you hear a thud against the door. Jumping, you turn to look at it a moment before glancing around for a weapon. Just as your gaze settles on a heavy book, you hear Harry's voice. Quickly, you hurry to the door and yank it open.

Harry is standing on the other side, the pouring rain running down his face in rivets. The upturned collar of his parka has done nothing to keep him dry and so the coat is clinging to his chest. In his arms, instead of a stack of wood, rest two cases.

Your travel cases to be exact.

You let out a squeal of delight at the sight of your beloved case. Hands reaching out, you grab it from his grasp, pulling it into the room with you. As you step back to allow him in, you catch a glimpse of his raised eyebrow, and your cheeks blush.

"Would you like to be alone?" His voice holds a trace of humour as he closes the door and turns to you.

"It's just..." you pause, unsure how to explain the significance of what's in your case.

Instead you carry it to the rinky wooden table you've drug closer to the empty fireplace and set it on it. Eyes focused on it, you unzip it, careful to avoid watching as Harry peels off the nylon parka that's done nothing to protect him from the elements. As you raise the lid, your eyes lift briefly to see what was once a crisp white shirt clinging to his torso, highlighting the muscle definition underneath.

Heat filling your cheeks, you focus once more on your case, hastily pushing aside your unmentionables as you dig to the bottom. Your fingers brush the foil-wrapped snacks you had packed the night before, and you wrap your hands around them, pulling them out. Holding them to him, you shyly show him the package of Chocolate Chip and Hazelnut Maryland Cookies as well as the bag of Frazzles, your voice soft as you speak.

"All I could find to eat were two cans of beans and a pack of water biscuits."

You're expecting him to laugh, perhaps come out with an Adam-like comment at your enthusiasm of having your biscuits and Frazzles but instead, he just smiles at you and moves to place his case next to yours. He quickly pulls back the zip, digging into the bag to pull two things free, and you find yourself staring at a large bag of salt & vinegar crisps and a large package of fig rolls.

Suddenly you can't keep from grinning as you realize you were both thinking the same thing.


Harry's crouched in front of the fireplace, his loose flannel sleep pants pulled taut against cheeks, as he arranges the wood and dry leaves you had cleared free earlier. You're sitting on top of the opened sleeping bag, your knees pulled to your chest as you watch him carefully build a fire.

He'd been reluctant to build the fire before night had fallen, unsure whether those who had left you to survive in the woods were truly gone or just biding their time. Instead, after leaving the cases to dry in the cottage, you'd gone with him to bring in the piles of logs he had found under an old tarp behind the building, setting them along the one wall.

Before you can get further in your thoughts, you hear his exclamation followed by the crackle of wood catching fire. Shifting your attention back to the man in front of you, you watch as he fans the flames, the kindling catching as the fire builds.

"There!" He says, hands fanning out to the warmth of the fire.

You smile as he turns to look at you, your breath catching at the grin he gives you. And in that moment, you can almost believe that you're not you and he's not Harry and this situation is nothing more than the two of you enjoying a rustic, romantic weekend.

But you are you and Harry is Harry.

And this is a mission gone wrong. As Harry settles on the bag next to you, your gaze settles on the orange glow filling the room and not the man next to you.


"As You Like It" Biscuit in your hand, you take a bite, watching as he reaches out for a crisp and pops it in his mouth.

"A Midsummer's Night's Dream" he says back, stretching out on his side. "Favourite Shakespeare tragedy?"

"Julius Caesar of course."

He shakes his head at you before answering. "Romeo and Juliet."

"I should have known." you say, smile lighting your face as you watch him. "Favorite Composer?"

He doesn't answer, instead trying to figure out what you mean with your remark on his favourite tragic Shakespearean play.

"Harry?" you prod, waiting for his answer.

"What did you mean?" he asks instead, eyebrows twisted in confusion.

"About what?"

"Why did you know I was going to say Romeo and Juliet?"

"I just did." you say, not wanting to venture into the realm of knowing about his past forbidden affairs.

But he won't let it go.


You're unsure how the seemingly innocent conversations about your favourite things has found you on your back, the hefty weight of Harry Pearce pressing into you as his mouth slowly caresses yours.


AN: Yes, I did just leave it there. =-}~ Reviews will get you the M-rated bits.