Longest one-shot I've ever written. Hope you appreciate that. Some slight sexual content. I so do not have the balls to write a full blown smut scene
Fellow Zaf fans from the Spooks Information Forum, thank you so much for the inspiration You'll notice the references to the conversations.
Dedication is to my best friend Ra-Ra, without whom I would be lost. You mean the world to me sweetie.
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'Curing the Common Cold'
By Sergeant Scarlett
Monday morning, mid January. It's more than chilly outside – it feels like a freezer. Scarves and gloves are a necessity today. Thick woolly socks are a real must have. Thermal vest… a damn good idea.
As Zaf walks to work that morning, he doesn't stop to admire fresh glistening frost clinging to skeletal, bare branches, or the serenity of the glass-like lake he passes, or even young children making snowmen resembling trolls. All he's concerned with is getting inside Thames House as quickly as possible, where there are hot drinks that warm you to the tips of your toes, and the glorious invention of central heating. His desk also happens to be right above a set of pipes in the floor too.
Toasty feet just two streets away, he thinks to himself while shivering into his scarf.
He would have driven to work, naturally, in his pride and joy, but unforeseen circumstances prevented it. The lock had never frozen over before. Oh, and public transport was conveniently at a stand-still. So what if the roads had frozen over and there was a lack of grit-salt, or the tube tracks were a hazard?
He sniffles. And then sneezes. And then coughs. Twice.
Zaf groaned. It is official.
He loathes winter.
There! He could see it! Thames House in all its frosty looks like a scene from a Christmas card, in a twisted kind of way.
Christmas? I'm not even Christian! he reminds himself sharply.
Getting onto the Grid is a slower process than usual today. Was the cold freezing the system too?
Not bloody likely, Zaf snorts. He has complete faith in Malcolm.
"Morning Malcolm," says Zaf half-heartedly as they pass each other.
"Hello. Can't stop to chat – I need to fix the system." He is clearly in a hurry. And agitated.
"What's wrong with it?"
Malcolm shouts back, "Only gone and frozen over entirely. Nothing I can't handle!" And Malcolm is gone. Zaf can barely believe his ears.
Upon entering the Grid, Zaf strips himself of his winter warmers; a fashionable yet snugly long black coat, a fluffy red beanie, thick yellow gloves and a stripy 'football team' scarf. Zaf collapses into his desk chair, slips off his shoes, revealing fluffy multi-coloured socks, and locates the position of the pipes under the floor.
Adam and Ros are on their way to the Meeting Room, both still in their winter coats.
"A tad on the cold side in here, don't you think?" Adam says.
Ros curtly replies, "Heating's having an off day, I heard. Boiler blew up overnight."
"Sod's Law," sighs Adam.
Zaf is incredulous. No central heating. That means no hot coffee either. Infuriated, he puts his shoes back on, and then sneezes. And again. And again.
Yup, just as I suspected; a winter cold. Great, just what I needed.
He grabs a bundle of soft tissues and follows Adam and Ros into the meeting room.
Zaf is deep in thought when he sits down. Who is the nasty bugger who gave him a cold? Upon further examination, he vaguely remembers visiting his mother yesterday. Yes, she'd been sniffling.
When Harry enters looking completely unaffected by the weather's cynical mood, everyone is present, apart from Jo. Zaf recalls hearing her evil alarm clock going off at half five this morning, but he doesn't remember seeing her emerging from her room. Overslept, perhaps; overtired. Dinner last night has been a subdued affair; Chinese takeout and a shared glass or Shiraz – neither of them had elected to do the washing up from Saturday night.
"Adam, where are we with the Russian diplomats?" Harry begins with his usual dry air.
"Adam sits straight. "So far, so good."
Harry stares at him blankly. "Please, feel free to elaborate."
Adam is about to reply when Jo bursts through the door looking extremely dishevelled. She is clutching a hefty packet of tissues among her many files and folders. She blows her nose violently and takes a seat next to Connie, who begins to look marginally repulsed. Connie backs away slowly and clears her throat, glancing at Harry in earnest.
"If you don't say it Harry, I most certainly will," Connie says bluntly.
Harry looks quite put-out. He'd be an officer down for the day. "Jo, you're clearly unwell. Please go home and recuperate."
Jo sniffles. "I'm okay – I can handle it."
"Yes," Harry says with emphasized sympathy, but unable to keep the sarcastic edge from his voice, "but I'm not she we can. Imagine all of Section D off sick with colds. Not pretty or practical."
Jo almost looks hurt. Instead, she uses her energy to send a death glare at the unsuspecting Zaf.
"Right then. Bye."
And she is gone.
"Zaf?" asks Harry, staring at him hard.
Zaf had meant to answer with a curt yet polite 'yes'. Alternatively, it comes out as an almighty sneeze, making Connie jump.
"You too, Mr Younis. You share a flat with Jo, I believe? Consider it quarantine for the next forty-eight hours. If either of you give any of us that cold, you can consider yourself fired."
Zaf is now royally pissed off.
He now has to walk all the way back home. As he walks out, Adam frowns.
"A little harsh, Harry."
Harry finds himself chuckling. "Yes, but it'll kill two birds with one stone: none of us get sick, and Zaf and Jo are stuck in the same house together for two days."
The Meeting Room erupts in laughter.
---
Groaning involuntarily, Zaf kicks a stone on the pavement as he steps back outside. The cold winds bites against him skin and he shivers. He sees Jo up ahead and races to catch up with her. She is walking briskly to the bus stop while sniffling into a tissue.
"Jo, wait up!" he calls in mid-sneeze. She ignores him, and continues walking, her high-heeled boots making a definite and intimidating sound on the concrete. He calls her name again. This time, she turns around with a face like terrifying thunder.
"I don't want to talk to you, Zafar," she seethes, making good use of his full name. She is about to continue her raving when she coughs violently. "Do you not realise that I am in the middle of an extremely important assignment which can make or break my career?" She sneezes. "Oh, obviously not, as you see fit to give me your bloody cold! I hate you, Zaf Younis!"
Jo is almost shaking with rage. Well, Zaf thinks, it could be the cold. She sits at the bus stop in a most delicate mood, crossing her arms and turning her head from him, making it quite clear that she doesn't wish to converse with him any longer.
Zaf carefully sits as far away from her as possible. They are the only two people at the bus stop. According to the timetable, the next bus will take five minutes to arrive. To pass the time, Zaf begins to read the poster on the public transport delays due to the frost.
Public buses in greater London will not be running in the early hours of the morning or the late night hours until the frost has subsided. Please find alternate transport.
He would have read on, but Zaf collapsed into an aggressive sneezing fit. Sniffing, he looked miserably at his companion.
"I couldn't borrow a tissue, could I?" he asks tentatively.
He is about to ask again when Jo throws a pack of tissues at him, and they hit him in the head.
"Thanks," Zaf mutters. That girl is stronger than she looks.
---
A chilly forty minutes later, Jo opens the front door of their flat. They are greeted by a rush of warmth that has been circulating from the radiators. Zaf and Jo take one glance at each other (more like: 'glare') and go their separate ways; Zaf into the kitchen, Jo into the lounge.
Zaf sticks the kettle on and begins making himself a cup of coffee. He calls out to Jo.
"Want anything?"
No reply. He makes her tea anyway as a peace offering. He carries it through to the lounge where she is flat out on his black leather sofa, snoring gently into a fluffy cushion. Or two.
Zaf sets her mug of tea on the coffee table. He takes the rug from the armchair and places it over her sleeping form.
He watches her for a moment. Her newly cropped blonde hair is illuminated from the cold sunlight peering in through the window. Her eyelids flutter angelically as she breathes. A smile plays about her lips; what is she dreaming about?
Peaceful; tranquil; serene. Zaf ponders these adjectives in his head, not quite knowing where they were coming from.
On his way out of the room, Zaf gives a deafening sneeze. He hears an irritated groan behind him. He'd woken her up.
Please, Zaf thinks to himself, please don't let her kill me.
Zaf hears the television and realises that he might just be safe. For now. Taking the hint, he proceeds back into the kitchen. Sniffing once more, he thinks to make a start on the washing up that is piled up in the sink.
That is, until he sees the new edition of the Top Gear magazine lying religiously on the dining table.
No, I'm in bad books with the missus as it is. Must resist…must do washing up…must not give into temptation…will resist the new BMW 6 Series Coupé, even with its sleek design and…and…
Making sure Jo is still safely in the other room, Zaf leaps for the magazine, and quickly becomes engrossed, flicking eagerly through the pages. He kicks off his shoes and puts his feet on the radiator. He digs out a new packet of McVitie's caramel chocolate digestives from the nearly bare cupboard, grabs his mug of coffee, and he finally begins to relax.
He sighs inwardly with a smile.
Bliss; it is pure, unadulterated bliss.
Minutes pass, then hours, as Zaf sinks into a sheer perfect state of relaxation. A day off work, a Top gear magazine, sheltered from the cold…what more could he want? He grins to himself. Yes, today is perfect. He could not want for anything else.
The door opens. Jo saunters into the kitchen wearing adorable pink bunny pyjamas, slippers and a floor length dressing gown. In her hands she is clutching a box of tissues. Zaf looks up from his magazine to look at her. He knocks his empty mug over in surprise. It crashes to the floor.
"Oops," Zaf says, realising he'd been staring a little too much. He reaches down to pick up the pieces. Drat, that was his favourite mug too. He is mildly surprised to find Jo on the floor already, sweeping the pieces into her hand. "Careful, they might be sharp."
"I'm quite capable, thank you," is her blunt reply.
She is impossible.
"Ouch!" Jo cries, staring in disbelief at her cut hand, which is already blossoming with blood. Zaf hurries for the First Aid kit and pulls out what he needs.
"Here, let me help," he says, concerned, though placidly amused. Jo backs away, nursing her wound, muttering something about being able to take care of herself. "Please Jo, let me help you," he persists gently.
Their eyes make contact, just for a fleeting moment. She reluctantly holds her cut hand out to him. Zaf begins to clean it with an antiseptic wipe. Jo flinches away, attempting to hold back tears.
"I won't hurt you. I promise."
It's enough for her, and she allows him to continue.
Zaf wraps a clean bandage around her hand with the utmost diligent care, and he is finished. He leans back to admire his handiwork, and Jo laughs in embarrassment, her eyes still misty.
"Hey," he soothes, wiping away a tear from her cheek, "big girls don't cry."
She chuckles. "No, they don't. At least, they shouldn't; not in this line of work."
Zaf takes her by her other hand and helps her to her feet. "Bed and some soup, I think."
Jo sniffles and smiles sincerely. "That'd be great. Thanks."
As she leaves the kitchen, she hears him sneeze. She calls back, "Some for you too."
"Yes, Ma'am," Zaf replies with a mock salute, a cheeky grin in place on his youthful, dark face.
As Zaf sets about making soup, Jo snuggles into her thick duvet, falling asleep almost instantly. Another smile warms her features as she dreams.
---
Later on when the soup is done, Zaf carefully carries a steaming bowl of his concoction into Jo's room. He'd always imagined her room to be, well, more organised. He steps cautiously over files and papers and boxes of tissues. He reaches her bed, and he feels his breath catch in his throat.
He feels the familiar feeling from before arise. Her sleeping form stuns him. Jo has wrapped her duvet around herself, like a cocoon. The word 'angelic' springs to his mind, and not for the first time that day. Zaf finds that his eyes are tracing over her, and he also finds that he can't seem to stop. Everything about her leaves him speechless: the way the corner of her mouth rises when she smiles; the way her laugh seems to sound like rain falling on a tin roof; the way her eyes seemed to light up at a joke.
Zaf shakes mentally shakes himself. He doesn't remember having these thoughts about a girl before. Ever. Usually it's 'she's lot nice legs', or 'that's a killer arse'. Not this time, evidently. Definitely not this time.
As he thinks about it, Zaf comes to consecutive decision, one which hurts more than he though it would.
No more of this. I'll just leave the soup and go. I'm not good enough for her. I don't deserve her.
He sets down the soup and groans.
"No more of this," he says out loud. "No more."
As he leaves, he coughs brutally. His throat his sore; he'd soon lose his voice.
Great, it's just one thing after another today.
---
Jo stirs gently from her slumber. She keeps her eyes closed, attempting to hold on to the last remnants of her dream. She is about to get rise when she becomes aware of someone in her room, and is about to turn when she hears an irritable groan, and then a voice.
"No more of this. No more."
It is Zaf, talking to himself. Jo is intrigued; what on Earth is he talking about? She hears him leave, the door snapping just behind him.
She turns over and sees that he's left a bowl of the soup he promised. It is steaming hot; she just wishes she could smell it.
Jo takes the soup he left and begins to eat, silently wondering what was going on in Zaf's head.
---
When she's finished, Jo emerges from her room carrying the empty bowl. Upon entering the kitchen, she is aware of something cooking in the oven. Glancing out of the window, she also realises that it is dark – the clock confirms her suspicions; it reads seven-thirty. Zaf is no-where to be seen. He has clearly set the dining table with his best cutlery, and even lit half a dozen candles. Jo feels that the light above her is spoiling the atmosphere; she switches it off. As she does, Zaf enters while blowing hard into a tissue.
He is now dressed more appropriately than before; pinstriped pyjama bottoms, a grey sleeveless top and a dressing gown. Upon seeing her, his eyes light up.
"Sleep well?" he asks. He pulls out a chair and beckons her to sit. He then proceeds to pour her a glass of red wine.
"Mercifully, yes. What's that you're cooking?"
"Chicken stew; thought it'd warm us up a bit," he replies casually. "Did I ever tell you that I can't stand winter?"
She laughs. "Did I ever tell you that neither can I?"
He chuckles as he pulls the stew from the oven. He is completely unaware of Jo watching his every move as he dishes it out onto plates. He places them proudly onto the table with a slight cough.
"There," he says proudly, "dig in."
Jo raises her glass of wine. "A toast – to winter; it has its advantages."
Zaf's eyebrow shoots up. "It does?"
"Yes. If it were summer, I wouldn't have been able to eat your wonderful soup or stew."
He seems satisfied. "To winter." Their glasses chink together cheerfully, and they begin to eat.
"Wow, this is delicious," Jo sighs as she swallows. "I honestly never knew you could cook so well."
"Neither did I," he admits ruefully. "I think there's some strawberries and cream for later, if you're still hungry."
Jo frowns. "Since when did we have strawberries in?"
Zaf shrugs nonchalantly. "I went shopping while you were sleeping."
"But you're ill too! And you hate the cold, remember?"
He smiles. She feels her heart leap. "What's the cold when I can see you so happy eating my food?"
Jo begins to feel extremely warm around her cheeks. "Thanks Zaf. I really appreciate this. Oh, and for the record, sorry I bit your head off earlier. It's not your fault I've got a cold."
Zaf looks uncomfortable all of a sudden. "Well, I wouldn't go that far. It was my turn to do the washing up on Saturday night, and I didn't do it. Last night we shared that glass of wine. So, technically, you could say it was my fault." He grins apologetically.
"Well, I think something needs to be done about that," Jo says indifferently, swirling her wine around in her glass. "From now on, we do the washing up together. That way, we'll make sure it gets done. Agreed?"
Zaf nods. Their plates are now clear. "Let's save pudding for later – I'm stuffed." He stretches his arms into the air and yawns. "Washing up time!" He eyes her playfully.
They load the sink with their dirty plates and bubbles begin to form. Zaf volunteers to do the washing and slips on very unflattering yellow rubber gloves. Jo, trying in vain not to giggle at him, takes a dishcloth.
Nothing is said between them. They only laugh. At what, they're not entirely sure. Jo hits Zaf's shins with the tea towel. He yelps in mock pain. He lifts a mountain of bubbles from the sink. A playful grin plays about his mouth.
"You wouldn't dare…" Jo whispers, her eyes alight, forcing back a laugh which could tempt him.
His voice can barely be heard. "You did."
Jo squeals as Zaf covers her in pearly white bubbles. He laughs harder than he has done all day, only to have water splashed at him from the tap. This is war. He takes more bubbles in his hands and showers her hair with them, and then proceeded to wipe them all over her face.
Jo was struggling for breath due to her cold and her fits of laughter.
"You bastard!" she cries and lunges herself at him with a dishcloth. With a manic grin, Zaf grabs her by the arms and pins her to the wall.
"I wonder," he muses, his grin mischievous, "if Jo Portman is ticklish." He pauses for effect.
"No, Zaf, don't…don't!" Her squeals increase and Zaf proceeds to tickle her as much as possible; under her arms, across her stomach, under her chin…
He stops, and his face suddenly serious. Jo's laughing subsides. Zaf raises a hand a runs it slowly along her soft jaw line. They are so close to each other, their bodies touching, and their faces inches apart. Their eyes are boring into each others'. Zaf is hesitant. Jo is almost shaking. The intensity is almost too much for both of them.
Zaf leans in closer. Jo feels his warm breath tingling on her skin. Slowly, he comes even closer. Their lips are now a millimetre away from each others'.
She breathes in sharply as he closes the distance. Their first kiss is everything they thought it would be; passionate, timid and careful. He parts her lips with his tongue, gently easing his way into her mouth. She groans with pleasure. He lifts her off her feet into his arms, and carries her into the living room.
Her arms are wrapped lovingly around his neck, her fingers caressing his hair. They struggle for breath as their kiss becomes more heated, but neither pulls away.
He lays her tenderly onto the black leather sofa, running one hand down the back of her neck. She tugs at his dressing gown and pulls it off, feeling the smoothness of his muscled arms. Their shedding of clothing continues with urgent desperation. Only when there are none left to shed does Zaf pull away from her lips.
A smile pulls at the corner of Jo's mouth as she watches Zaf intently. His eyes do not leave her face, though they are serious and kind. Jo puts her hand to the back of his head and pushes him back onto her lips.
---
Zaf collapses on top of her as they both cry in release. Jo emits a giggle from her very tired lips. She runs her hand through his hair again, not quite able to get over just how soft and irresistible it is. He can't help but laugh either.
"Wow," Zaf breathes, "if I knew what would happen, I would have given you a cold months ago." He places a tender kiss on the tip of her nose.
Jo snorts. "Yes, it was certainly eye-opening."
He frowns. "Meaning…?"
She caresses his cheek, enjoying the feel of the beginning of a beard. "Meaning that I've had very little experience when it comes to sex, I mean real sex."
"Really?" He is flattered.
She nods. "Really." She kisses him chastely, and then pulls away. "Right, what's next then?"
"Finishing that washing up, I suppose. I don't think we got very far." He props up his elbow and balances his chin on his hand. He looks adorable.
"Well, I was thinking that we could break into those strawberries. And the cream," Jo says, her eyes twinkling.
Zaf looks mildly thoughtful.
"Yes; marvellous idea."
They raced to the kitchen, and the tissues lay forgotten on the floor.
---
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