That night at Tosca, Tuesday had trouble keeping her attention on the stage instead of on Morse. He looked so at ease in his tuxedo, and she didn't know how he did it. Maybe all those years in choirs. It was an ease she had never been able to manage in a fancy dress. She still spilled things on herself and got her skirt caught in doors and all sorts of other trouble. But she didn't think Morse noticed, based on his expression the first time he saw her dressed up. She reached over and took his hand – leaning on his shoulder was a bit too informal for the setting, but she wished she could. Morse smiled at looked at her, and she felt sorry for having distracted him from the music. He got the farthest look in his eyes when he heard an aria. She never wanted to interrupt that.
Morse, of course, didn't mind at all. He hadn't been thinking of the opera much all evening, just trying to distract himself from Tuesday's proximity. It had been weeks since he'd been so close to her, and he couldn't believe he was wasting this time sitting at the opera. There were much… closer things he could think of. When she took his hand, he was relieved. He was glad she was thinking of him and wasn't totally absorbed in the music.
When the show finally ended, they caught a cab back to Tuesday's flat. It was small but cozy, in a mercifully well-lit part of town. Morse wondered if she'd done that on purpose. Certainly, with what the new job paid her, she could afford a nicer area of town. He was just glad she felt safe here.
He quickly forgot his concerns when they were inside, though, in favor of slowly peeling off Tuesday's long opera gloves and kissing every inch of her he could get at.
They didn't sleep much that night; they spent most of it lying together, taking turns with conversation and silence. Morse held Tuesday close to him, and Tuesday searched for ways to squeeze him tighter.
The next morning, they stayed in bed quite late, only venturing out for a bit of toast and tea. Saturday was spent remembering each other. Tuesday outlined the constellations she'd named in his freckles, and Morse traced his memories across the valleys in her skin. In the late afternoon Tuesday forced him to get dressed and they went to a record shop near her flat. Morse suspected Tuesday had scoped it out beforehand, as it had more classical music than a store she would frequent. He bought two albums and kissed her on the nose before they left.
That night, as they drifted off to sleep, Tuesday shifted against Morse and turned her face towards him.
"I missed you so much," she said quietly. "I wish you could stay."
Morse thought about it briefly, but dismissed it. He belonged in Oxford. So he kissed her forehead softly and sighed.
"I missed you too."
