A/N: My second Yes Boss fic, and I like it better than my other one. I've changed my mind about SRK-Juhi. I think they make the cutest couple ever, closely followed by SRK-Kajol. The reasons for this are explained in my profile. Let's just say my eyes opened after (re)watching Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani, Duplicate, Raju Ban Gaya Gentleman, Darr, Ram-Jaane (though this was really disappointing on the romance front – SRK-Juhi fans, don't bother watching it) and of course, their best movie together, Yes Boss.

So yeah. Does anyone else think that SRK-Juhi are better than SRK-Kajol? Or am I just going nuts?

Anyways, this story is set just before Rahul and Seema first have to pretend to be husband and wife. It's the part where they both go to Rahul's house to prepare for the dinner that evening. Enjoy!

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In Which The Bedsheet Is Evil

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Rahul opened the door with a flourish. 'Welcome to my humble home!' He looked at her nervously, waiting for the verdict. 'Well?'

Her gaze surveyed the room, noting the huge stack of dishes in the sink, the various articles of clothing littering the floor, the books that were lying here and there. She smiled hesitantly. 'It's, um...nice...'

He ran a hand through his hair and grinned sheepishly. 'Well, I guess it does need a bit of cleaning up...' He picked up a few shirts, plunking them on the sofa and hurriedly kicked a pair of Tweety Bird boxer shorts under the coffee table.

She made an impatient sound. 'Rahul! We have to get this place clean and decorated in–' she checked her watch – 'six hours! If we're going to clean, we'd better do it properly!' She picked up a couple of shirts and took the ones he had dropped on the sofa. 'It'll be fun transforming this place!'

There was an almost manic glow of excitement in her eyes. Rahul shook his head bemusedly. Women. How could cleaning make anyone excited?

She looked up at him. 'Well, don't just stand there! Help me – you can start by picking up your... well –' she blushed – 'more personal articles of clothing.' She glanced at the coffee table.

He cleared his throat and gave her an embarrassed grin. 'Yes, boss. Whatever you say.' He saluted and scrambled to pick up the boxers and any other embarrassing articles of clothing before she could see them. Maybe he should've done some cleaning around here...

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The next two hours were uneventful to say the least. They got the house cleared, had set a load of washing in the washing machine, had done the dishes and vacuumed the place without any major incidents except for Rahul somehow managing to get his eye stuck to the vacuum cleaner's socket when trying to look for a one rupee coin that had been sucked up.

Oh, wait. That was a major incident. It would be an injustice not to go into detail.

'Ow!' he cried. 'Stop it, it really hurts!' He jerked away from her. 'I don't want that herbal crap on my eye!'

'Come back here, you big baby! It's camomile – it actually helps! Hold still!' she retorted, as she tried to apply camomile lotion to the purple bruise already swelling up around the eye in question. She tutted. 'It was your own fault, you know. Which idiot goes and puts his eye in a vacuum cleaner's socket?'

His ears turned red. 'It wasn't my fault! If you hadn't vacuumed up that coin, none of this would've happened!'

She gasped in disbelief. 'Ex-cuse me? You're blaming me for this? If you hadn't left that coin lying around –'

Rahul sensed he was losing the argument. 'You're right. I shouldn't have been so careless. Why are we arguing anyway? Is it really worth the time? I don't want to fight.' He gave her his most innocent smile. She melted.

'Well, seeing as how you admit your mistake, I suppose you are forgiven.'

Inwardly, he grinned. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. It had always worked on his mother.

'There, done!' she declared, the lotion applied. 'Does it feel any better?'

He shrugged. 'I guess,' he said.

She smiled in satisfaction. 'See, that "herbal crap" does work after all! Shall we get moving?'

He groaned. 'More cleaning? Haven't we done enough?'

She rolled her eyes. 'Now the house is clean, but our work isn't over. Didn't you say that your house looks like a bachelor's? We have to decorate now! It was your idea, you know.'

He blanched. 'Next time I have an idea, somebody please tell me to shut my big mouth,' he muttered under his breath.

Reluctantly, he helped her drag the mattress for the double bed into the bedroom. They hung up curtains and a painting or two, put a bunch of flowers on the coffee table.

She checked her watch in a business-like manner. 'Okay, we have an hour and a half before they will be here. That means we have half an hour to finish up, and one hour to get ready. If we may continue, shall we collect the bedsheets for the double bed?'

He went with her reluctantly to the clothesline, grumbling about stupid ideas and bloody cleaning.

'You know, Seema, I don't know why you insisted on washing these sheets first! I mean, they're new! What's up with that?' This was the latest in the steady stream of complaints Rahul had been voicing since the Vacuum Cleaner Incident.

She pulled the sheet off the clothesline briskly. 'It needs to be washed because it's new – to get the starch and whatnot out of it, so it's soft.'

He snorted. 'What's the point? It's not like we're actually going to be sleeping on that bed, right? Right?' He stared at her. She had a strange look on her face and wasn't answering. His eyes widened. 'Wait a second. You don't mean we actually have to...?'

She shook herself out of her reverie. 'No, of course not, silly! I was just wondering how on earth I managed to be wrong and you right. There was no need to wash the sheets.'

'Oh.' A part of him was triumphant that Seema had admitted that he was right about something. Another part of him was immensely relieved that he would not have to do any such thing – there was a limit to what he would do for money, after all. What disturbed him the most, though, was that another part of him was... disappointed?

Nah. Couldn't be. Maybe that Vacuum Cleaner Incident had affected his brain. Crap.

Seema shook her head. 'Well, since they're dry, I guess we might as well put them on the double bed. So now, when you get married, it'll be there ready.'

The sheets were fitted on the mattress that Rahul had got delivered to his house without any major accidents. However, there was a spare set of sheets hanging on the clothesline.

'Why is there an extra set?' she asked.

He shrugged. 'In case.'

She looked at him. 'You don't have a bed-wetting problem, do you?'

He gaped. 'What??' His mouth opened and closed wordlessly. 'No, of course not! What made you think that?' His face was radiating heat.

She shrugged. 'Well, we'd better fold this one up, then. Grab the other ends.'

Rahul did as she said, still not quite recovered. His mouth was still opening and closing wordlessly.

She made an impatient noise. 'Look, you've got the wrong corner in the wrong hand.'

'I'm holding the ends you told me to hold,' he said somewhat defensively.

'Yes, but you're holding them in the wrong hands.'

He switched the corners. 'Is that right?'

'Yes – wait, where did that third corner come from?' They both stared in bewilderment as a third corner was hanging out at Rahul's end.

'Wait, am I meant to hold that too?' Rahul tried to pick it up.

Seema shook her head. 'No, I think it's one of those hot-water bottle pockets.' Then she looked at Rahul's corners again. 'Rahul, you've switched them again! Now the sheet's all twisted.'

Rahul's head was starting to ache. 'I don't get this! It's just a stupid sheet – what difference does it make?'

Seema gave him a death glare. 'It makes a difference. Forget it. Just come up to me with your corners and give them to me.'

Rahul thought about arguing, but decided that when Seema had That Look on her face, it was best not to argue. He gave her the corners. It was as she took hold of them that he realized that his arm had somehow gone through the hot-water bottle pocket (which he was starting to suspect was not at all what it seemed) and that he was stuck.

She noticed and took three deep breaths. 'Let's go about this calmly and rationally,' she said slowly.

So for the next five minutes, they very calmly and rationally battled ferociously with the stupid sheet, mysterious holes, corners and buttons appearing out of nowhere as they fought to free Rahul.

After five minutes of their calmness and rational thinking, they were lying, panting with exhaustion on the floor of the balcony beneath the clothesline, both somehow wrapped tightly in the bedsheet, barely able to move. Seema was pinned underneath Rahul, whose mouth had commenced its wordless opening and shutting again.

Seema looked at Rahul. 'I'd advise you to block your ears. My self-control is running out and I am probably going to give a scream of rage in the next two seconds.' All of this was said in a slow, quiet voice which sounded extremely dangerous. Rahul's eyes widened. His hands were comfortably trapped in the bedsheet. Uh-oh.

Seema was not one to go back on her word. She had promised a scream of rage in the next two seconds, so...

'AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!'

Poor Rahul's eyes were crossed in pain as his brain struggled to cope with the overload of sound signals it had been hit with. If his hands had been free, they would have cradled his aching head. When the onslaught of sound finally dissipated, Rahul opened one eye tentatively.

It was open just long enough to see Seema's Death Glare, focussed on him. Uh-oh. He hurriedly shut it.

'Rahul,' she said in that same, low dangerous voice. 'Would you mind moving your hands elsewhere?'

For the first time, Rahul realized why his hands felt so comfortable. They were resting on her... well, her chest. Great. He tried moving them. Please no.

'I can't,' he said, feeling strangely hot and flustered.

She glared at him. 'I don't think you understand. Whether you want to or not, you are going to have to move your hands.'

Rahul gulped. 'Um, Seema, I don't think you understand. It's not that I don't want to move my hands – I just can't. It's physically impossible to move.'

Seema looked for a second like she was going to give another scream of rage, but then decided not to, a decision for which Rahul – and his ear drums – were truly grateful. She sighed in defeat. 'Things can't get any worse.'

Rahul opened his mouth to say something, hopefully something comforting, but was silenced with a glare. 'Don't you dare say, "At least it's not raining".' Rahul very wisely decided to shut his mouth.

But it promptly started raining anyway.

'Great,' she muttered. The raindrops pelted unrelentingly upon them until they were completely soaked through.

Rahul was okay except for the bullet-like raindrops pelting into the back of his head, but Seema had it worse, because they were pelting directly on her face. She blinked uncomfortably.

Rahul sighed. He had always had somewhat of a hero complex. He couldn't stop himself from rushing to the rescue of pretty damsels in distress. It was going to rain on the back of his head anyway, so he might as well...

He moved his head so that it was directly above her face, effectively shielding her from the rain's assault.

'Rahul, what are you...?' she started, her eyes going wide, before she realized. 'Oh. Um... thanks.' She smiled at him.

He smiled back. 'No problem.'

Maybe it had been the way she had been smiling at him, or maybe it had been the fact that his neck was getting increasingly sore from keeping his head up. It might even have been the rain, making him crack under the strain. Whatever it was, he had started closing the distance between their faces. Her eyes had first widened in something like shock, but then they had started closing. He tilted his head, their faces inches apart...

Beeeeeeepppp. Beeeeeeepppp.

The small, sharp sounds were enough to bring them back into their senses enough to make them hurriedly jump away from each other – well, as much as they could while still trapped in a sheet.

Rahul cleared his throat, hoping Seema didn't notice his ears were bright red. What had he been thinking? 'What was that?' He realized as soon as the question left his mouth that it could have two meanings.

Seema looked at him, her expression unreadable. Thankfully, she decided to answer the obvious question, the one he had intended. 'That was my alarm,' she said softly. 'I set it to let us know when we were supposed to start getting ready. I guess we should try to get up now.' She gave him a small smile.

He heaved a sigh of relief. If she could pretend that nothing had happened, it would make it a lot easier for him to pretend the same. 'I guess.'

-----

'What? But why?'

Seema was already taking a towel and some clothes and heading for the bathroom. 'Because. My hair's wet, anyway, so I'll have to dry it. I might as well have a shower first and wash it properly.'

Rahul sighed, looking at the clock. 'But they're going to be here in fifteen minutes!'

Seema shut the bathroom door. 'Entertain them for a while,' came her voice, slightly muffled by the door. 'Buy me some time.'

With nothing left to do, Rahul sank down on the couch in the living room. Why, why, why did women take so long to get ready? He had towelled his hair, chucked on a kurta, and there, he was done.

But Seema? She couldn't just simply dry her hair and put on her sari. No-oo. She had to have a shower, wash her hair again, when the rain had already done an excellent job, put on her sari, take another hour putting on make-up and jewellery and then fixing and re-fixing her hair three times before she was satisfied.

And what was he supposed to do? 'Entertain them.' Great.

-----

Luckily for Rahul, the doorbell rang not fifteen minutes later, but half an hour. Thankfully, the boss had decided to give them some extra time to get ready. Or maybe he was just running late.

He opened the door to reveal his boss looking harried. 'Is everything ready?' he hissed.

Rahul nodded, winking conspirationally. 'Yes, boss,' he reassured him, 'everything went according to plan.' He coughed. Except for that fiasco with the bedsheet.

The boss heaved a sigh of relief. 'Good. Sheila's waiting in the car. Is Seema ready?'

'Um... about that...'

'Hello, Rahul! May we come in?' Sheila had obviously decided not to wait in the car.

It was the beginning of a torturous hour and a bit – where the slightest slip could bust their scheme wide open. Rahul lost count of how many times he had almost exposed them. If looks could kill, he would be six feet under by now, thanks to his boss. But now, it was finally over, Sheila having been satisfied. And while Rahul was gloating about their brilliant acting and the success of their scheme, Seema had done the most unexpected thing – she burst into tears.

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Rahul was at a loss of what to do. One second, he had been laughing about their narrow escape, and the next it was monsoon season. Instinctively, his arm had curled around her shoulder and she had leaned into the support, sobbing. He wasn't even good with girls, let alone crying girls.

'Calm down,' he said to her, since it seemed to be the right thing to say. 'Let's sit down, okay? And then you tell me what's wrong.'

Once they were seated on the sofa, she calmed herself enough to speak. 'I'm a horrible person, aren't I, Rahul?'

He looked at her, perplexed. His obvious answer would be, 'No, you aren't. You're a good person.' So he said it. But honestly, what other answer was there? 'Yes, you are a horrible person'?

His seemed to be the right answer, because she gave a shuddering sigh and immediately contradicted him. 'No, I'm not! I'm seeing a married man. Married. How can I be a good person? What about his poor wife? How could I be so selfish?'

Rahul hated himself for lying, but... 'But you saw it yourself, his wife is cheating on him too.'

Seema shook her head. 'That's not the point. That doesn't change the fact that I'm seeing a married man. I mean, imagine how I would feel if my husband did that to me! Wouldn't you feel bad if your wife did that to you?'

Rahul took a moment to sigh in relief that she had said 'my husband' instead of 'Siddharth'. Things weren't so far gone yet. Then he stirred himself to answer her question.

'Seema,' he said patiently, 'my 'wife' is not capable of doing such a thing, because my 'wife' is the most honourable person I know. She is the most kind and considerate person I've ever met. She's almost perfect. When I say almost, I mean that she's not quite. She has two big faults. One, she blames herself for things that aren't under her control and two, she takes far too long to get dressed.' That earned him a choked laugh.

He looked at her seriously. 'But jokes aside, my 'wife' is the most beautiful person I know, both inside and out.' He gently took her face in his hands, a rather bold move for him. 'But if there's one thing I can't bear to see, it's her crying.' He wiped away her tears with the pads of his thumbs.

'She should also know,' he continued recklessly, 'that if she should ever need a friend, then I'm always here for her.' He gave her a small smile.

But to his horror, tears started streaming down her face again. He looked at her anxiously, his face a picture of worry. 'Seema, what happened? Did I say something wrong?' He hurriedly took his hands away from her face.

She shook her head, though tears were still rapidly streaming down her face. 'Rahul,' she sobbed, 'you're just –' The next few words came muffled through his shirt. '– such a good friend.' Instinctively, he hugged her back.

Good friend. Great, he thought gloomily. Today, it's 'good friend' – tomorrow she'll be calling me 'bhaiyya'.

But after more than ten minutes had passed in a comfortable silence – and embrace – Rahul realized that that maybe things weren't so far gone yet.

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A/N: So, how was it? One of the longest fics I've written in a long time, and believe me, it took ages to complete. I lost inspiration so many times during the writing of this, but in the end, I managed to finish it. So, how do you guys like it? This is my favourite of my fics at the moment, but then, any fic I'm working on at the time is my favourite...

Anyway, I'll quit rambling. Please review and tell me what you thought!