When Kate was twelve, she had sat on her older sister's bed and watched her getting ready for yet another date. She had fetched perfume when ordered, done up zips when ordered, pinned hair back when ordered. Hurried up when ordered.

It astounded her how her sister, who was the most impatient person Kate had ever met, would spend ten minutes applying mascara to every single eyelash just for a date.

It astounded her how she got so many dates in the first place, actually, what with being stroppy and bossy enough to be annoying, and not attractive enough to make up for it. Not that she was ugly – she wasn't. She was very pretty. She was just very, very irritating.

"What does it feel like, being in love?" Kate had asked, squinting her eyes and tilting her head to see past the thick fringe that always trailed in her eyes no matter now she styled her hair.

"All warm," she had been told. "Like there's a hot water bottle inside your stomach."

Tony certainly made her feel warm inside. But it was more in a blood-boiling, one-more-word-and-I'll-shoot-you kind of way than a lovey-dovey, hand-holding kind of way.

If he held her hand at work she'd break his arm.

But they weren't going to be at work, they were going to be on a date. And he had promised to behave.

Why the hell had she agreed to go out with him anyway? Once had been fun – but that wasn't a real date. There hadn't been any pressure to impress him or to have a good time. In fact, she would have been more than justified in having a crappy time, and spending the evening pissed off with two men instead of just one, which had been her original plan.

It wasn't her fault he'd practically forced her out of her sweatpants and t-shirt and into a dress and heels, and dragged her to the club round the corner. And it certainly wasn't her fault he'd poured enough alcohol down her throat to make her let him sleep not only in her apartment but in her bed, and to agree to go on a real date with him.

Not enough alcohol to give her a hangover though. Maybe she was sober… Or maybe she had built up a resilience to alcohol. Maybe she was going to be hangover-free for the rest of her life.

The first solution was slightly more likely.

It was also a lot less comforting. Denial solved all sorts of problems. And sure, lying was wrong… but only if you were doing it to someone else. If you were lying to yourself… well, that was allowed, right?

As she stabbed herself in the eye with her mascara for the third time, she took a deep breath to stop herself thumping the wall and bruising her hand. Why was she suddenly incapable of doing her own make-up? She did it every day. She'd done it every day since she was thirteen. There was no reason whatsoever for to suddenly be incapable of performing the most basic routines.

Wiping the black smudge from the bridge of her nose, Kate carefully swiped the wand over her eyelashes. This time, she managed to hold her hand steady enough to keep it on her lashes and not her skin. Success.

Scowling as she realized putting on mascara wasn't that great an achievement, she discarded the little black and gold tube and took her dress off the hanger. Her fingers brushed against her velvety skin, smooth and soft from her bath and the lotion she had massaged in, and she slipped she straps over her shoulders.

It had taken her absolutely ages to choose a dress to wear tonight. Originally she'd planned on wearing the red dress her cousin bought her for her birthday – but it was bright red, and kind of… well, bright. So she'd tried a dark blue dress she had, but it was too ball-gown-ish to wear on a date with Tony. Pink was too girly. Green was too Christmassy. Yellow was too summery. Silver made her look like she should be for sale at a jewellery store, and anything with flowers or swirls was too fussy.

Thank God for the Little Black Dress. Forget diamonds, the Little Black Dress truly was a girl's best friend. Coco Chanel should be made President. She clearly had a knack for solving problems.

Kate twisted awkwardly as she tried to pull up the zipper on her dress, unable to hold her arms at the right angle. She yanked it hard and it closed, ripping her fingernail in the process. She held her finger out in front of her so she wouldn't drip blood over her dress – it was black, so it wouldn't be glaringly obvious, but still. She didn't want to go on a date with Tony looking like she'd come straight from work-experience with Ducky, and she didn't have time to get changed or the will to go through the decision making process again.

She frowned as she examined her broken nail. Wincing, she licked her finger and grimaced as her mouth was filled with the sour, metallic taste of her own blood. Turning the tap on, Kate carefully washed her finger clean – blood-stained fingertips would ruin all her hard work – and went back to her bedroom, staring critically at herself in the mirror.

Twisting her hair up onto her head, then letting it fall again, before pinning it back up, Kate scowled at herself. It would help if Tony would tell her where they were going, then the answer to 'up or down' might magically come to her.

What was wrong with her? It wasn't like it would make a difference – Tony had seen her with her hair up and down. It was a bit late to be worrying about first impressions now – the first time she had seen him, she had called him pathetic, and threatened to shoot him.

Not a lot had changed over the last couple of years, really.

But… the Tony she was going on a date with wasn't the same Tony she fought with at work over who sat where in the car or who was being the most childish. It was like she was going out with someone totally new. And first impressions at work were far less stressful than first impressions on a date.

This Tony was what every other woman on the planet apparently saw when he smiled at them – charming and kind and funny, someone worth hanging out with.

It was a side of him she'd never experienced before. She'd seen him turn on the charm for all sorts of women, all the time. Suspects, co-workers, victims. Sometimes it was genuine, sometimes it wasn't. She'd just never been on the receiving end of it before.

He'd be off sweet-talking pretty girls, then he'd come back and revert to the loud and hyper-active Tony that she dealt with every day.

She had thought that she was the only woman on the planet who could see what he was really like. Looking at herself in the mirror as she fiddled with her hair, she thought that maybe she was the only one who couldn't.

After all, she reasoned, if someone told you they were the only sane person on earth and everyone else was utterly deranged, you wouldn't believe them.

Majority rule, and all that.

Kate finally secured the clip in her hair, deciding to just leave well enough alone. Tony would have to take it or leave it, she wasn't going to mess about with it any more.

There was a knock on her door, and she took a deep breath before sliding her feet into her shoes and picking her purse up from her bed. She opened the door, and smiled shyly. Tony grinned at her, holding a bunch of flowers awkwardly.

"Erm, here," he said, offering them to her.

"Thank you, they're gorgeous!" Kate replied, taking them from him. "I, uh, I'll just put them in some water. Do you want to come in?"

Tony shook his head.

"I'll wait here."

She put the flowers in water, and grabbed her jacket and purse.

"I'm ready," she said, the butterflies returning to the pit of her stomach.

God, why was she so nervous? It was only Tony. She probably spent more time with him than she did with anyone else, and he'd picked her up from work before when her car was in for servicing or whoever he was with the night before lived near her.

It wasn't like she hadn't spent time with him one on one before, either. Sure, mostly it was at work, but she'd gone clubbing with him last week. She could handle whatever he was planning. Anyway, she and her friend Moira had a deal – Moira was at home all night babysitting for her fiancés nephew, so she had promised to call Kate at eight and if the date was going horribly she would invent some sort of emergency to get her out of there quick-smart.

"You'll be fine," Moira had assured her, rolling her eyes.

"Please," Kate begged, wringing her hands desperately. "I have to work with him, if it's a disaster it's going to be so awkward! Please?"

Moira had laughed and called her a drama queen, but had sworn to call the minute the clock struck eight. Sooner if Kate called her from the bathroom in desperation begging for help.

They were by Tony's car, now. Kate had been in plenty of flash cars, and she'd been in this particular one many times before. She didn't go ga-ga for men with Ferraris or melt when someone picked her up in a Jaguar. And sure, she teased Tony for being so attached to his car, but… it was nice, she had to admit. It was all clean and shiny and black and yes, it was just a car, but it was a nice car. And inside was pretty impressive too. The leather seats were soft and comfy, and it smelt like Tony's aftershave. It was like a little cocoon of Tony-ness. It wasn't 'stunning' or 'beautiful' or 'gorgeous', or any of the other words men used to describe their cars, but it was… nice.

Not that she'd ever tell Tony she thought so.

"Why are you staring at me?" Kate asked, seeing Tony grinning at her from the driver's seat.

"I'm just looking," Tony said, holding up his hands innocently. "You look good, is all, and I was just… looking at you."

Kate smiled shyly, biting her lip.

"Thanks."

"Welcome," Tony grinned, driving away.

Kate looked down at her purse, resting on her lap. She wasn't sure exactly why, maybe she was missing the part of her brain that stopped her doing stupid things, but she opened it up and rummaged through it for her phone.

She glanced at Tony, still concentrating on the road, and switched it off.