Moving in with someone, even if was just 'until other quarters can be found' (was anyone even looking?) or not, always had points to be negotiated. Who slept where (couch or rackā”˜then left side or right), whose aide should arrive first with the morning briefing (Tory - who would accept nothing less), who cleared up after dinner (in turns, except after treatments). Bathroom time...he was usually up before her, showered and starting to shave; but with two busy Leaders and one tiny head a time overlap was inevitable .

At some point they'd bypassed knocking and forgone the non-apologies; moved straight on to walking in and dancing around each other. This morning was no exception as she pushed through the door, eyes still half closed, her glasses...somewhere. Not fully awake she winced against the harsh light as he grunted some form of greeting, razor in hand, shaving foam covering his face.

She gripped his shoulders lightly and manoeuvred him gently through the door, ignoring his exasperated (but benign) sigh as she took a minute to use the head. Even this newfound domesticity had its limits. The door reopened to her grin. His 'You're lucky you're cute.' earned him a laugh as she tugged him back in.

He continued shaving at the sink, watching her reflection as she reached to remove her wig. She'd fallen asleep with it in place and he hadn't had the heart to wake her. Pins pulled loose, the wig fell away in her hands, strands of truth mixed in with the lie as wisps of her own hair came away too. A whispered 'Frak' at the continued betrayal of her own body. She ran her hands through the thinning mass, clearing out the traitors.

Turning to her he slid his hand over hers, taking the death away, wishing that he could caress the cancer from the rest of her. Her fingers shook slightly as she quirked her lips in a mirthless smile. 'Still think I'm cute?'

His mouth was on hers in an instant as he pushed her against the wall. Fierce, intense, knocking her off balance, but she gave as good as she got. Moments ticked by before he released her, gently cleaning off the foam that had transferred to her face. 'Yes.' She laughed softly, her fingers shaking now for an entirely different reason. She took a step toward him.

'In that case...out...I need to use the shower.'

'DAMNED lucky, Roslin.'