It was one of those nice days. Apart from the fact that she had a feeling.

There were all sorts of feelings - good and bad, and strange - but never this. Tilly shook her head, trying to get rid of the fog, but it was still there, nagging and cutting. She didn't dare to hope for help. It never seemed quite on the books. Not for her.

Usually it didn't upset her. It did earlier, but she learned to shut it off. Today, though, she was too small to resist its pull.

Small, or…

Tilly threw a look at him. No, at them. Rogers and Weaver. They were standing close and their lips were moving. Discussing something.

He seemed tired. Tired and determined. Just like Weaver, but plus the tired part. Weaver seemed… Her thoughts suddenly jumped and ran into another direction. She had to follow.

Tired and determined. And a bit sad. Once she forbade herself calling him sad, but today wasn't meant for rules. Surely he'd understand this.

'How about a match?'

She smiled at him and her smile felt surprisingly genuine.

He sighed and made an exasperated gesture. She knew the answer before she heard it.

'I know, detective. Sorry.'

When she turned around and forced a first step, she realized that sometimes miracles were just in her head.

'Tilly, wait!'

She didn't stop because she didn't think she could bear the same move once again. It was better to face the right direction from the start.

'It's not the right direction, Tilly. I promise."

Did she say it out loud?! Her clearly warming cheeks make her forget about the steps, and his sad expression, and everything else on earth.

His hand on her shoulder. A gentle, yet delightfully insistent pull. Other things failed to make any sense.

She battled with the urge to look around. To check.

The urge wasn't too strong, though, because there was only one direction in which she wanted to look. She could add 'right now' but it felt wrong as well. 'Right now' was far too short for her. And she could only hope that he felt the same way.

The pressure on her shoulder intensified and she let herself obey.

The remains of her thoughts scattered all over the place, and her flushing face felt positively in flames.

She also heard Weaver smirk in the distance and she wondered if it was at all possible to be more embarrassed at one point at a time.

"Is IT the right direction, detective?" she wondered, cockily.

He gave her a mock frown making it impossible to fight giggles that threatened to escape.

'I'm a detective, as you rightly pointed out, and detectives…'

'... always pick the right direction, I know.'

In fact, she didn't know that at all, but with him no other option seemed possible.

'Actually, there was one detective who used to choose wrong directions.'

Weaver. Apparently, today wasn't meant for exercising self-control. And that thought alone nearly made her choke with laughter.

Rogers frowned at both of them, and serenity finally embraced her - this cozy sense of belonging she could no more escape.

But now, as she looked at them again, 'cozy' was as far from her mind as humanly possible. On the contrary, it was anything but.

It was prickling her, needling her, pushing her and pulling her at the same time. It was making her small and big so quickly that her mind stopped recording anything but those stages in-between that didn't really tell you anything but made you feel things all the more vividly.

And 'cozy' was definitely not one of those things.

But she wanted it to be, and this desire was more than she could handle.

'Tilly, are you okay?'

Was she? Earlier she'd say she was because it was the answer everyone expected. Everyone.

Everyone wasn't safe, or understanding. Everyone treaded carefully with imagination. And she… she could never resist its pull.

Saying 'yes' while meaning 'yes' was an unattainable luxury most of the time, it still was a luxury now but she felt like she could afford it. One step at a time, but she could.

'Sometimes yes.'

Sometimes. Rogers smiled, and it was one of those smiles he couldn't control. Not a good kind.

When she looked at Weaver, his determined expression was gone revealing something else - something that was almost uncomfortable to see. And yet, it felt right - exactly right.

'Let's go and get you something to eat.'

Indignation in her voice was only partly a pretense. Seriously, did they think she doesn't eat at all?

'You look hungry.'

'Well, Mr. Weaver, I have to admit your deductions are correct'.

Out of all things she did, wrong name-calling seemed to annoy him most, so she simply couldn't miss this chance.

'It's detective, and by the way the second part of your sentence heavily implies it.'

"No, it doesn't.'

It was arguing for the sake of arguing, and they both knew that .

"I only said that your deductions are correct, but I didn't say anything about them being right'

For a moment, she saw something else in him, something she'd forgotten he had. He used to have many things, and she had trouble remembering all of them.

For half a moment, she regretted having said those words, and this also felt familiar. Too damn familiar.

She blinked fighting tears and caught his uncharacteristically mild look.

'I'm not angry, Tilly. And you're right. Sometimes being correct doesn't mean being right. And I can't claim that I've followed this knowledge flawlessly.'

The last words were no louder than a whisper. But she heard them, and, even more devastatingly, seemed to understand them.

She didn't have to look at Rogers to know what would happen next.

'What the hell are you talking about?'

She longed to tell him everything, but she didn't herself know what 'everything' was. The only thing she was certain of was that she wanted to share. She didn't want to live in her small world anymore, not when she'd found something better, and brighter.

'But I'm both correct and right when I say that you've not eaten a single thing today and will most probably drop unconscious if Rogers doesn't give you that sandwich he'd been carrying around for three hours already. By my count at least. '

Now Tilly wasn't sure how to deal with an unexpected wave of affection that threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn't even decide what got her most - the fact that Weaver helped her to get rid of that knot in her chest or the fact that he gifted her with an embarrassed Rogers. The exasperated version might be the most entertaining - Tilly wasn't at all ready to deny that - but a Rogers who was hiding his eyes and mumbling excuses came dangerously close. Maybe one day she wouldn't be able to decide at all. The possibility seemed a bit daunting. But the happy kind of daunting. Definitely the happy kind. And if she was completely honest, with Rogers there wasn't any other.

'Yes, the sandwich you bought and made me carry.'

Well, it wasn't just 'not daunting', it was absolutely hilarious as well. Tilly tried to suppress the fit of laughter but failed after the approximate amount of three seconds.

Perhaps Rogers could be a bit daunting after all.

She tucked into the stuff excitedly listening to the grumbling sound in her stomach.

They both gave her a look.

'It's a natural reaction, detectives. Nothing to be concerned about.'

They didn't look overly concerned, though. There was… something else.

'You're going to have a proper dinner tonight.'

Weaver. Always straight to the point. She liked that about him. She wasn't sure she liked the suggestion, though.

'Proper, as in?'

'I don't think detective Wevaer is aware of what 'proper dinner' means, either.

Weaver's look could cut stone. But Tilly wasn't concerned about stone. Not really.

'This sandwich is delicious, detective.'

By the look they gave her she realized that she should've probably said 'detectives' instead.

'And since I'm not hungry anymore I think we could find something more interesting to do.'

…than argue about who gets the meaning of a 'proper dinner'. She didn't say the last bit out loud, but in her thoughts, she meant it no less than the first part. 'Proper dinners' were boring anway. And why do something boring if you could do something exciting?

That evening she was seated in a fancy cafeteria with a full plate of 'proper dinner', as they were so keen on calling it.

Sometimes Tilly hated proper things. But this time, 'proper' felt suspiciously like home.