Sir Humphrey's arm was around his waist when he woke. Two days, his mind reminded him. Two days and this ends. Two days and life goes back to normal. The breath on the back of his neck made him shiver and the arm tightened, pulling him closer. The sheets were half on, tangled around legs and pulled tight against his hip. A shift in the bed and Sir Humphrey rolled away, one arm still caught under Bernard.
"Sir Humphrey," he whispered into the dark knowing the older man was asleep. "I don't want to be," he paused. Be what? Like him. Mara liked to remind that she married Bernard Woolley, not Sir Humphrey Appleby and she would prefer it to remain that way. But there were times when what happened seemed so normal it was painful. Times when Sir Humphrey's logic made perfect sense, when Sir Humphrey's body pressed against his made perfect sense. Times when lying in bed and waking up to that particular smell, that particular feeling, was better than most mornings. Times when he felt like picking up with Mara and moving somewhere else, somewhere where it wouldn't be so complicated, somewhere without Sir Humphrey.
"Bernard," it was mumbled against his shoulder and looking over he saw that the older man had rolled back against him.
"Hm?" He remained on his back, staring up at the ceiling he had long ago memorized.
"Why are you awake?" The arm was back along his waist.
"Thinking."
"Never a smart idea at night."
"Why's that?"
"You might become introspective."
Bernard allowed himself a smile, lips were pressed against his shoulder.
"And that's bad?" He asked, keeping his gaze firmly on the ceiling.
"Of course, you might want to change things, reform yourself or some other such nonsense."
Not replying Bernard rolled so he was facing Sir Humphrey, watching him quietly. The older man's eyes were dark, tired. His shirt was still on, though half unbuttoned and Bernard wondered why he hadn't completed the task. Reaching down he undid a button, then another when Sir Humphrey's hand caught his, eyes still locked.
"Good night, Bernard." He whispered it as he placed the hand on his waist and closed his eyes. Bernard watched him sleep thinking all the while of cold offices and dark hallways that seemed to be filled with eyes, watching, watching, watching.
Sir Humphrey was gone before the alarm went off and Bernard could hardly expect otherwise. Waking up in the morning would mean something, something more than what it was. Whatever it was. The other side of the bed was cool and he wondered when exactly the older man had slipped from the room, a vague recollection of the bed being far too empty half an hour after the mumbled, drowsy, conversation. Or maybe sooner, or later.
The flashing light on the answering machine and Bernard duly ignored it as he ran the shower hoping that the scalding water would solve something, even if it was just his exhaustion. There were memories he was beginning to regret having yet, yet, there was always the yet. A word he had begun to hate and yet –
"Sir Humphrey," he stood by the door to the older one's office, lingering just shy of the threshold. "You called?"
Flick of the wrist and he was obligated to enter, ignoring his knowledge that Sir Humphrey had very nice hands, that they were soft, deft, that he had felt them on his body almost every night for what seemed like forever. What might have been forever for what it was worth. Lord how he hated it.
"I've been hearing some interesting things, Bernard."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Sir Humphrey." He kept his gaze on the pen holder. Sir Humphrey's fingers were just beyond his gaze and the older man's eyes were sinking into him.
"Things concerning you."
"Ah."
"Tell me, Bernard, how is the prime minister?"
Looking up he met Sir Humphrey's gaze, impartial yet all the more threatening for that.
"Fine, busy."
"Doing what?"
"Er, looking into a road building project in Manchester."
"Is he?" The look became pointed, Bernard could feel something in him sink.
"Yes. Shall I find something else for him to do?"
A smile spread over Sir Humphrey's face reminding the younger man of why it was all happening to begin with. Why he still was going along with it.
"That would be a good idea, Bernard."
"Sir Humphrey."
"Yes?"
Their eyes met, Bernard swore he saw something flicker in Sir Humphrey's, something dark, something that meant more than he would ever say aloud.
"Could we do dinner. No," he frowned, "we will do dinner." The older man's expression was incredulous. "I need. We need. To do dinner."
Silence as Sir Humphrey watched him, lips parted before pursing and giving a brief nod.
