Chapter 3

Face glanced up, startled, as Amy entered the living room. She was wearing a dark blue bathrobe - his dark blue bathrobe - and towelling off her hair.

"I hope you don't mind," Amy said, gesturing at the robe. "I didn't feel like putting those clothes back on."

Face tried very hard not to think of what lie beneath that robe – and failed.

"No, no, you're fine." He moved over on the couch, but Amy hesitantly sat in the armchair instead.

"Did I hear you speaking to someone earlier?"

"Uh…" Face hesitated, noticing her pull the bathrobe over her legs as she crossed them. He shook his head. "Um, no. No."

"Face." Amy gave him a look of disbelief, like she did. Yeah, she knew.

"It was probably the television."

"It didn't sound like the television… Oh, I'm sorry," she said, raising her hand to her mouth. "You had a date, didn't you?"

"No, not tonight…. The TV just blasted out when I turned it on. Damn thing must be on the blink." Her suspicious expression said she wasn't buying it, but he knew Amy wouldn't push it. Another thing he… liked about her. She seemed to know when to stop asking him questions. Unlike some of his girlfriends.

"How was your bath?" he asked.

"Good, thanks. I feel better."

"I'm glad." She looked better too. Evidence that she'd been crying had faded from her face, her eyes no longer puffy and red. She had a warm glow about her though, her cheeks flushed due to the hot bath.... Face suddenly fiddled with the TV controller, realizing the palm of his hands were sweaty.

"The bathtub is huge, you know," Amy said. "Would easily fit two…" Face glanced at Amy, unable to hide the small mischievous smile creeping over his face. "Oh, uh… you probably already know that -"

"Another brandy?" Face stood up taking the glasses without waiting for a reply.

"Uh, yeah… please. It will help me sleep. I think I'll need that tonight."

Face handed Amy her brandy glass.

"A toast," he said, raising his drink. "To good friends."

"To good friends." Amy gently chinked her glass against his before she took a sip.

Face sat back down on the couch, but closer to Amy's chair.

"You know, I'm here for you." Face leaned forward, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "I'll help you with this if you need me to, Amy."

"I know, I know." Amy squeezed his hand before letting it go. She sighed heavily. "I think I need to look into the story he was covering and go from there. If I can't find anything at work, then I'll go to his house." Amy suddenly chuckled. "I will definitely need you then. I'm not very good at picking locks."

Face smiled. "I think I can be of assistance there."

"Where'd you learn that skill?"

He raised an eyebrow at the sudden question.

"Come on, Face. Share something with me… please." She raised an eyebrow. Was she flirting with him? Maybe it was the brandy.

"Well, I suppose as a kid I had a tendency to want to know what was behind a locked door. And we had plenty of those at the orphanage. Usually ended up just being a closet or something, but the challenge was getting in." Amy giggled as Face spoke, so he elaborated more on his story, liking her attention, enjoying her company. "And then when I joined the army… well, need I say more? It was one of the many skills I excelled in."

"Mmmm… you certainly have many skills," Amy said, cheekily. Face chuckled with her, until she suddenly stopped. Her hand, quivering, went to her mouth, trying to hold in her tears.

"Hey." He edged closer towards her, placing a hand on her knee.

"I'm here laughing, and Al's dead."

"He wouldn't want you to walk around miserable for the rest of your life."

"I know. I know. I'm being silly… but I feel guilty. Maybe I should go to bed."

"Yeah… you've had a long day," he replied, watching her gulp the last of her drink.

"Face," Amy hesitated, pulling the bathrobe tighter around her, "have you got something I could wear?"

"Uh… sure." Face stood up, nervously fingering his shirt collar, certain thoughts distracting him. "I'll go and have a look."

Face walked into his bedroom, chewing his lip. Travelling light, as always, meant he didn't have a great deal of his own wardrobe. Besides, the guy who owned this place was about Face's size… some of his designer shirts had fit nicely, so there'd been little need to bring all of his own belongings.

Face rummaged through a few drawers, but it was obvious this guy was like Face – no use for pyjamas. From the closet, Face pulled out a shirt, one of the longer ones, trying not to imagine how Amy was going to look in it. Long ago he'd seen Amy wearing his shirt. He'd liked that image even then.

"Uh… will this do?" Face asked, emerging from the bedroom, holding out a pale blue shirt still on its hanger.

"Um… yes, thanks," Amy said, taking the shirt, nervously glancing at the floor, not meeting his eye. "That'll be fine." She smiled weakly and walked towards the guestroom.

Face busied himself tidying up the living room, trying not to imagine Amy getting changed, not fantasising how he'd help her slip out of her clothes.... He anxiously ran a hand through his hair as he headed for the bathroom, knowing he shouldn't be thinking like this. As he splashed his face with warm water, Face pondered whether he'd done the right thing. Should he have let Amy leave? Taking away his temptation.... He stared into the mirror. He could have called her a taxi to get her home. He imagined her going back to her lonely apartment, upset and distraught. Grabbing a clean towel, he dried his face. Of course he'd done the right thing keeping her here. She needed a friend, a shoulder to cry on.

He imagined her in the guestroom, hoping she'd sleep comfortably…. Wearing that pale blue shirt. He frowned at himself in the mirror. He really needed to stop thinking about her body, her long slender legs…. What they would feel like.... He shook his head. He had to stop thinking like this. He closed his eyes, and swallowed down his guilt. She's a friend.

Funny how you always want the things you can't have.

Damn it, he needed to get a grip.

Closing the bathroom door behind him, his shirt tossed over his shoulder, Face walked quietly towards his room, not wanting to disturb Amy. But he heard a door click open, and turned. Amy stood there, wearing the pale blue shirt, nervously leaning against the doorframe. He tried very hard to make sure he kept looking at her face.

"Um… Face…" She met his eye briefly, revealing evidence that she'd once again been crying, but as she spoke her glance flitted back and forth. "Would you…? Did you want to…? I, uh… can't face sleeping on my own."

Hesitantly, Face glanced from his bedroom door to Amy. Cold empty bed. Warm beautiful woman. There wasn't really a choice. It had been a long time since he'd shared a bed with Amy. He'd been the one seeking comfort that time.

And he'd sworn it would never happen again.

"Uh… Sure, sure. If that's what you want?"

She gently nodded, opening the bedroom door wider, inviting him in. As she turned back into the bedroom, Face followed, guiltily grimacing as he watched her long bare legs that were scantily covered by the shirt. Without any words, Amy quickly slipped under the bed sheets. Face automatically stripped to his boxers and joined Amy under the covers. As Amy snuggled into his held out arm, he wondered if he should have gotten a t-shirt to wear.

"Thanks, Face," she whispered.

He heard her sniffle, further evidence that she'd been crying, dwelling on Massey again. He felt reassured he'd done the right thing, making her stay.

"Don't worry, Amy," he said, leaning across her to turn off the bedside lamp, hoping the words were comforting. Tonight, for the first time in a long time, he was actually at a loss for words.

In the darkness that surrounded them, he lay back down, wrapping his arm firmly around her, trying to sooth her. He relished her clean soft scent, the bubble bath lingering. Something about her hold seemed less inhibited than previous times they'd slept together. Or was it that long ago he couldn't remember? Or was it the damn booze? Had he drank too much himself?

She nuzzled her head into his neck and her hand swept softly across his chest, sending a surprised sensation through his body. Ignoring it, he rested his head on hers, her hair on his cheek. She gently fidgeted, brushing one of her legs against his.

He froze, paralysed, suddenly daring not to move. The slightest thing could be the wrong, yet right move, but then… would there be regrets?

Oh, boy….

But he could sense, the way she touched him, her body pressed against him that if he responded, reciprocated, so would she.

Damn the brandy.

He took her hand and gently rubbed it, calculating every move he did, not wanting to give the wrong signals. Usually when a woman gave these signals he was right on it, reacting to them. But he needed to control this situation. Control himself – the temptation.

What if he was reading the signals wrong? What if he was right?

If two people want the same thing….

She's on the team. She's upset, her emotions are running high. She's probably not thinking straight. Both of them had drunk too much. Tomorrow morning it would either look like he'd taken advantage or she'd think he'd felt sorry for her.

And that's not what he wanted.

Once Face felt her body relax and her breathing become natural and heavy, only then did he relax and allow sleep to follow.