So…she wanted him, did she?

Tony wasn't sure he'd ever expected anything less in a situation than for Michelle Dessler to take an order from him and randomly follow it up with a nervous proposal of a date right there in the bullpen. He almost hadn't responded, almost too astounded to realise she was waiting for him to say something, anything.

I feel the same way.

Yeah, it could've been smoother. A lot smoother. In fact, to him that had been just about the very worst way of intimating his feelings to her. He'd thought about the various ways of telling her, of asking her out. They all involved being immensely suave and slightly indifferent, as though he didn't really care if she shot him down and instead I feel the same way had come out, promptly followed by an agonising display of vulnerability in the highly malicious form of a Nina Myers reference.

He had not ever imagined Nina Myers to factor into any of his conversations with Michelle. In fact, he fully planned to pretend it had never happened, especially when it came to his refusal to tarnish his future relationship with Michelle (something that hadn't been at all likely until a few moments ago).

He returned to his station and for a long moment the reality of their exchange washed over him. She'd asked him out. She'd looked at him sweetly, her eyes desperately sexy and she'd made some cute joke to tease him, to put him at ease. They'd come to some sort of arrangement regarding the basic future of their city and a possible night out together if it did indeed still exist by tomorrow and then he'd walked away.

She wanted him. He'd suspected some lukewarm feelings on her part, though nothing quite so acute. He'd noticed a slight blush when talking to her, had noticed the times she'd put a curl behind her ear, had clued into her casual willingness to help him but he hadn't thought much of it. He'd suspected that he intimidated her, which explained all the violently delicious physical traits – shy gestures; things that could be mostly ignored. As for her openness to assisting him with duties and assignments…well, it was her job and she was good at it. He'd never looked into it until now.

Slowly, he was realising she really did want him. Not quite the way he wanted her, and not as badly. How could she? He was a man who barely slept, a man who considered himself in personal hell or jail or some other equally awful place just because she wasn't beside him, looking at him, loving him.

She claimed his days without knowing it, she floated around in his head at night. She was a disease to him. He couldn't get past her, couldn't get away from her, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to live his life normally when it was consumed by a small dazzling curly headed woman. He had all sorts of hopes for a relationship with her, all sorts of fantasies about what he was going to do to her when they were alone together. She did not want him as intensely as he wanted her, of that he was sure, but she did want him. It had set him aflame.

All the promises and rules he'd made for himself about post-Myers relationships, especially office ones, had subsequently burst into flames and reduced themselves to a smouldering, shitty pile of nothing. He'd often found himself wanting to give her the things she desired, and it appeared that she desired him. He'd be damned if he didn't give that to her.

Of course, he wasn't sure why she wanted him. Sure, there was something physical there. The attraction was fierce to say the least, but still…it didn't make up for so many months of poor treatment, of ignoring her, of being unfair to her, of making her doubt herself.

He'd made her doubt herself? Maybe he really was a bastard. He felt absolutely abhorrent for a few solid minutes. He'd watched her rise out of the ashes of a bombed building this morning and escort, carry and all but drag victims to safety. He'd watched her shrug off a bandage on her hand when it started getting in the way, all the easier to type and work and find this nuke with before it killed them all. He'd sent her on a proper break to change and eat and she'd reappeared a mere two minutes later in a purple top, swallowing the last of whatever she'd thrown down to keep her going. She'd explained that she wanted to be more than colleagues…and he'd spent months making her doubt herself?

He wanted to tear his hair out. What the hell was wrong with him? What had he been doing to her? She had other stressful things to contend with in life, how dare he be one of them for so long? He watched her for a moment, on the phone to the Bureau, arguing with some inept person who clearly had no appreciation of the scope of today's crisis.

Then, he left his station and strode over to her. He wasn't sure what he was going to say, he just needed to say something…something to make it right…

'Hey,' he said, the moment she ended the call.

'Uh…FBI,' she explained. 'They wanted a representative at the mosque but they've got their wires crossed.'

He nodded, not giving half a damn about the inconvenience that was the FBI. He looked away for a moment, cursing himself for not preparing something to say. What could he do? Sorry for treating you like shit. Only did it because I'm falling for you.

'Listen, um…what we were talking about before…'

She suddenly looked down at her keyboard, her face terribly unsure for a moment.

'Yeah, I'm sorry,' she told him hurriedly. 'I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that.'

Yeah, don't say you're sorry. Don't ever be sorry. Just…just be quiet for a moment, I'm trying to do something here…

'Well, no actually. Uh, I'm glad you did.'

She stared at him. He stared back. Christ, her eyes were fantastic.

'You are?' she asked quietly, as though she might've misheard.

'Yeah. There's been something hanging between us ever since you started here…'

He watched her as she straightened her spine, as though trying to repel a shiver down her back or something, and she looked away bashfully.

'Yeah,' she murmured softly, her lips curling in a way that made him feel concussed. 'Yeah there has.'

Seriously, stop talking. I can't concentrate, woman.

He gave himself a steadying breath, hoping that he was conveying at least some of what he was feeling to her. God knew he wasn't doing it overtly, or even very well.

'I made a decision, a while ago, to try to keep personal and professional stuff separate…'

She locked her eyes with his, looking slightly unsure once more.

Jesus, I'm trying to apologise. Please understand what I'm trying to say, please understand the reasons why I was so unfair to you…

'But now I…'

She was smiling. The phone interrupted them, but he hadn't really known what else to say anyway so he didn't care. She was highly perceptive. He felt almost sure she'd understood his attempt at explaining himself, at saying sorry.

'There's a problem in room seven,' she informed him, replacing her receiver.

'Bob Warner?' he asked incredulously.

'Yeah. He's getting violent.'

Feeling as though Bob Warner should be held personally accountable for wrecking his moment with her, he got to his feet and stomped toward the situation room. There would be time for a proper apology later, he felt almost certain. Hell, he'd disarm this damn nuke himself if it meant they could have more time.

will write for opium x