Yet another story found practically complete on my computer. Not very original, but hopefully enjoyable anyway.
"There's nothing on it," he murmurs, holding the note up to the light streaming in through the conservatory windows.
"Are you sure? It has the feel of a classic drop," she insists.
"That's the trouble with spies, always looking for meaning in everything," he smiles, turning towards her and walking up to her. His eyes soften and he asks, "Are you okay?"
"Yes," she nods, not really feeling all right at all, but putting on a brave face. This is work after all. She called him because she thought the man had been trying to tell her something, not to take comfort from him and his presence in her home. She wonders briefly if she'll ever have the courage to invite him here one day just to have a cup of tea and a chat rather than for work.
"Are you certain?" he insists.
"It's silly, I know," she replies, looking down at her hands as she realises that he can see straight through the brave face she's putting on. Besides, who's she kidding? She didn't ask him here just for work; not really. "It's just a stranger but," she stammers, "I just can't... quite get the image out of my mind, you know?" She looks up at him and then away. "It all happened so quickly and I'm..." she sighs helplessly. "Oh, God... Sorry," she apologises, realising that she's losing it a little.
He lifts his arm then as if to pull her into his embrace, but thinks better of it half way through the motion. It's not as if he hasn't hugged her before, that one beautiful, wonderful hug when he'd brought her home after they'd survived George Mathis, but she called him here as her boss, and so... but then she leans towards him slightly and he makes up his mind to take the plunge and risk her disapproval by slipping his hand off her shoulder and gently pulling her into his arms.
She clings to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and taking deep breaths, inhaling his strong, masculine, comforting scent as she struggles to fight the tears that want to spill from her eyes, but as his hands begin to slide smoothly up and down her back, a few manage to escape her tight hold on them and slide down her cheeks onto his coat. She lets him hold her only for a few moments before she pulls back, murmuring an apology.
He wants to pull her back into his arms and kiss away her tears, but he can't. After their moment several weeks ago, in this very house, when she'd kissed him and promised to try to be brave, he'd promised himself that he won't pressure her into a relationship before she's ready. It is enough for him to know that she wants him, she wants them, and he hopes that, with time and much patience on his part, she'll come to him in the end. And though there are times like the one at the hotel last week and this one right now when he finds it incredibly hard to keep his distance, he knows it'll be worth it in the end. So he just smiles down at her and answers, "Sweet tea, that's what you need." And as he turns away to make it, all she can think is that what she really needs is for him to stay with her, to hold her, to kiss her, to love her, and to never let her go. But the moment has passed and they're back in work mode.