(Originally published in Distracting Drabbles)
Everyone jumped when the door slammed shut; a moment later, muffled shouting drifted through the thin wall between Misaki's private office and the outer office.
"Jeez, what's been up with her lately," Kouno muttered, casting a worried glance over his shoulder, as if Misaki could hear him.
Saitou took a long sip of tea. "Probably the Americans again. They've been dragging their heels over this agreement for weeks."
Hei listened to their conversation without looking up from his work. The Americans were frustrating her, it was true - but he was sure that she was really just upset over Matsumoto's injury. It was an uncomplicated broken leg, and the older man was resting comfortably - if impatiently - at home, but he'd been injured after Misaki had sent him on assignment with incomplete intelligence. She took that sort of thing personally.
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean she gets to take it out on us! Look at this, she's making me retype ten whole reports!"
"That's because you can't spell worth a damn, Kouno; stop complaining."
Hei held out his hand. "Let me have them; I've got a couple to do tonight anyway."
Kouno grinned, and dropped the stack of papers on Hei's desk. He clapped him on the back (Hei tried not to flinch at the unexpected contact). "Thanks, Li - you're a life saver."
Across the row of desks, Ootsuka snorted.
The door to the main office swung open; everyone's heads turned towards the newcomer. Hei had to force himself to watch with the rest; he was still having trouble with showing obvious attention, and had to remind himself that open curiosity was perfectly normal behavior in an office environment.
The man who entered wore the green uniform of a florist, and carried a modest bouquet of yellow tulips in a slim glass vase. Ootsuka rose and went to the door to greet him. Hei resisted the urge to follow; there was always the possibility that the delivery man was an assassin in disguise, but he had been expecting the delivery. Even so, he kept an eye on their interaction as Ootsuka signed for the bouquet and the man headed back into the hallway to the elevators.
All eyes were on the quiet liaison officer as she carried the flowers across the office towards Misaki's door.
"No way," Saitou breathed.
"Aw man, we're so dead," Kouno said.
Hei looked over at them. Both men were tense, as if expecting an explosion any second. "What's wrong? Doesn't M - the Chief like flowers?"
Saitou gestured vaguely. "It's the Chief."
"You don't - " Kouno began. "I mean…it's the Chief."
Ootsuka cast them all a helpless look, then knocked on the door. After a moment, it opened; Hei couldn't see Misaki from where he sat, but Ootsuka passed the bouquet through. The door shut - not quite gently, but at least it didn't slam. Ootsuka returned to her desk, a look of relief on her face.
"What did she say?" Kouno whispered.
Ootsuka shook her head. "She was still on the phone."
"Any idea who they were from?"
"There wasn't a card."
For some reason, they were all glancing over at Hei. He pretended not to notice, and went back to translating the report from Chinese intelligence.
About five minutes later, the door opened again. The low chatter in the room abruptly stopped, and Hei glanced up to see Misaki leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and fixing her subordinates with a piercing glare. He swallowed. She always looked so gorgeous when she was angry; maybe it was the red flush in her cheeks.
Misaki's gaze passed across each of them in turn before finally settling on Hei. Kouno, who had been leaning over Hei's desk to borrow his stapler, backed away nervously.
She jabbed a finger at Hei. "Do you have that translation?"
"Uh," he held up the half-finished page.
"Good. Bring it." Without another word, she turned and strode back into her office.
Saitou exhaled in obvious relief; Kouno gripped Hei's shoulder as he stood. "Good luck, man."
He hadn't been nervous, but now a tiny flutter of doubt twisted his stomach. Not knowing what to expect, he smoothed his expression into one of bland helpfulness and followed Misaki into her office.
She was leaning against her desk with her arms crossed, waiting for him. "Shut the door."
Hei did so, then offered her his in-progress translation. She took the page and set it down behind her without so much as a glance. "Care to explain these?" she asked, nodding to the flowers which now sat on the corner of her desk.
"Why are you asking me?" he tried.
Misaki snorted. "Hei, you are the most fearless and obliviously sweet person I know - who else would they be from?"
The little ball of doubt fluttered away, and he took a step forward; Misaki relaxed into his embrace, pressing her face into his shoulder.
"I thought they might help cheer you up," he admitted.
"I don't need flowers to cheer me up; I need my team to be in one piece again."
Hei gave her waist a squeeze. "No one is blaming you except yourself, you know. Shit happens, especially in the field. Everyone knows that."
She sighed. "I've seen how they all walk on eggshells around me now; of course they blame me, it was my fault."
And she called him oblivious. "Misaki, they just don't like being yelled at for no reason. They think you're angry with the Americans and are taking it out on them."
"Have I really been doing that? Shit, I'm sorry…"
He smoothed back a loose strand of hair from her face. "You should go visit him - you haven't been yet, have you."
"No," she said, her voice laden with guilt. "I couldn't…but you're right; I should. Will you come with me?"
Hei blinked in surprise. When he didn't answer, Misaki continued, "I'm sure he'd like to see you too, but somehow I doubt that you've been either."
It was still so strange to Hei that people actually saw him as a human being and appreciated interacting with him. Matsumoto had always been the most accepting of him ever since he joined the team, and Hei had found himself missing the older man's laconic company.
"Alright," he said. "Let's go tomorrow."
"Deal." Misaki pushed back from his embrace with a sigh and a smile. "You should get back out there, before they start to wonder why it's taking me so long to disembowel you."
"Do you hate the flowers?" He'd been so sure of his memory of her mentioning how much she liked tulips, and yellow had seemed like the most cheerful color.
"No, I really love them. Just…next time, don't send them to the office. Bring them home with you instead."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I can do that."