At the sound of a knock he looks up from his computer to see Carol silhouetted in glass panel of his office door. That fact that she has knocked at all serves only to point out the distance that has grown between them since she asked him to give her a child she'd prefer never knew its father. He closes the file he is working on and sighs gently before answering her.
"Come in."
She pushes the door open, shooting him a tentative smile. In her arms, she clutches two thick binders.
"Hope I didn't catch you at a bad time. Do you have a moment?"
"I don't have too long, I'm afraid. One of my students is coming in for help with his research project in a few minutes."
She looks disappointed and hugs the notebooks close.
"I'm sorry. I should have called first."
"No, it's all right." He gives her a conciliatory smile. "What have you got there? New case?"
Surprisingly, she blushes and it suddenly dawns on him just what exactly she holds to her chest.
"No, it's not work. It's...personal."
"How on earth did you get the clinic to release their books to you? I thought they usually expect prospective clients to come to them."
She has the decency to look sheepish.
"They do. I may have intimated that we had some loose ends to tie up regarding the murders."
Under normal circumstances, he would be impressed at her ingenuity, but their dynamic has shifted ever so slightly and he finds his reactions aren't exactly what they should be. It is disconcerting.
That damned silence settles in and she can sense his obvious discomfort.
"Look, I really should have called. I didn't mean to just barge in on you. I'll see you later."
"Carol..."
He knows she's just trying to keep things like they were and he appreciates the effort. She's at the door before he can spring from his chair.
"No, Tony, it's fine."
"I really do have a student coming, you know."
She blinks at him. "I didn't say you didn't."
"I know. I know you didn't."
He walks to her side and stands uncomfortably close. "I'm not avoiding you, Carol. And I'm sorry if I'm not being a good friend to you."
"I didn't say that either."
"No, but I've been a bit out of sorts, and you deserve better."
His proximity and the tone of his voice bring up a line of gooseflesh on the back of her neck. She wonders if he is aware of the physical effect he has on her. He remains too close for her comfort as he continues. "Let me apologize with dinner, hmm? I'll come round yours tonight, and we can have a picnic on your floor, spread out your books, and find some disgustingly athletic fellow for your genes to mingle with."
"Tony?"
"Yes, Carol?"
"Are we all right?"
"We're always all right. Aren't we?"
Before she can answer, there is a sharp rap on his door and they both jump. A tawny-haired youth sticks his head into the office.
"Sorry, I'm late, Dr. Hill! The bus was running behind schedule."
He enters and nearly runs directly into Carol.
"Oh! Sorry, ma'am. I'm not interrupting, am I?' Tony answers for her. 'No, Martin, Inspector Jordan was just leaving."
Carol nods her goodbye as she reaches for the door.
"Tonight, then."
Tony's hand closes over hers on the doorknob as his oblivious student settles into an office chair. She looks up at him, transfixed as he takes a step towards her. She finds herself caught by those eyes, every fiber in her being straining to catch his next words.
"I told you I really had a student coming."
Humor, as always, comes to their rescue, cutting the tension like a knife. She has no doubt that tonight will have it's share of awkward moments, but she still manages a smile. And she thinks that perhaps he's right. They'll always be all right. Won't they?
As promised, Tony arrives at her flat just after eight, fragrant parcels of food balanced precariously in his arms.
"I'm not eating for two yet, you know."
He thrusts a wine bottle at her, and she deftly manages to keep it from crashing to the floor.
"Good. Then I won't have to drink this all by myself."
She glances at the bottle and raises her eyebrows in happy surprise. "Brought the good stuff, eh?"
"It's my standard apology wine. I hope it goes with Indian."
"Mmmm. Anything goes with Indian. Especially if you're as ignorant as I am about wine. Here. Let me help you."
Carol opens the paper sacks, pulling out warm containers of biryani, sag paneer, tandori chicken, fish pakoras, and garlic naan. Tony fetches plates, glasses, and a corkscrew from her kitchen. Soon, they are both settled on the floor, their backs resting against the couch as they tuck into dinner. It's almost like old times. Carol suddenly doesn't feel so anxious to break out the binders of potential donors; instead she prefers to revel in the company of the man beside her. As if reading her mind, he says, "I'm going to miss this."
"What do you mean?"
He waves his hand at the dinner spread before them, the wine, and, finally, in her general direction.
"This. Dinner. Drinking. Being with you."
Unconsciously she leans closer to him. "It doesn't have to change, Tony."
"You think you'll still be in the mood for this when you haven't slept in a week and you've got a baby crying in the next room?"
"I'll just make you give him his bottle then I'll fall asleep on your shoulder."
"You won't drool on my shoulder, will you?"
"I make no promises, Dr. Hill."
Simultaneously they both reach for a second helping of naan, and their fingers collide as they settle on the last remaining piece.
"First you want my DNA, then you want my naan. Women. So bloody selfish."
They stare at each other, neither of them relinquishing the bread.
"You give me your DNA, and I'll give you the naan. Seems like a fair trade to me."
"It is really good naan. I think I might actually come out the victor there."
Their playful banter is veering desperately close to sensitive subjects, so he sighs and reins it in. Best to concentrate on the task at hand.
"So, where are these books of yours? I suppose we should try to find your prince charming before the clock strikes midnight."
Now it's Carol's turn to sigh. She doesn't harbor a secret hope that he'll suddenly change his mind, but she's been enjoying the evening more than any in recent memory. It's been a reminder of just how much she relishes his company. She's had a fair number of lovers, but it suddenly hits her that she's never been as close to any of them as she is to Tony. Their relationship is at turns odd, difficult, and indefinable, but it is still the closest one she's ever had. She'd like to ask him to reconsider, but she certainly doesn't want a repeat of last time. She wants him in her life, whatever his terms are. So, she reaches for the first of the thick, black binders.
"Here we are. Bradfield men who, how did you put it? Donate sperm for beer money."
He screws up his face in distaste. "I did say that, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did. So, are you going to help me or what?"
Carol lays the book between them and flips it open to the first entry. It's all pretty basic: Age, race, height, weight, and in some cases, a short bio indicating anything from occupational information to hobbies. Tony slides his finger along the biographical info, stopping at the last sentence.
"Do you really want to consider a musician? I'm fairly certain that if he were employed in a symphony orchestra he'd be doing weddings before he resorted to selling his sperm."
"I don't know. It does say he's six foot two. I might be willing to exchange brains and determination for the ability to reach things off the high shelves."
"Yes, a tall toddler. That sounds wonderful."
She flips the page and they read the next profile.
"A clinical psychologist who's five ten? Tony...how exactly did you pay for this bottle of wine?"
He laughs and refreshes their glasses.
"By tracking down homicidal nutters and serial rapists. But Harry Anderson, a colleague of mine, who I have a sneaking suspicion that he helps himself to an occasional treat from the chemists, is about the same height as I am. You don't want to mess about with him.."
Now it's her turn to laugh.
"I'll tell you what. Since you're obviously pickier than I am, why don't you page through this yourself and pick me out a perfect match while I figure out just how much this procedure is going to set me back."
She dumps the first binder in his lap and opens up the informational booklet. They sit in companionable silence, browsing and drinking, leaning against the couch. As the evening wears on, they move closer and closer together, until their shoulders are gently touching. If either of them notices, they make no effort to break the connection. Carol reaches the end of the financial information before Tony has finished his scrutiny of potential candidates.
"It's highway robbery what they want for this procedure! You could save me a lot of money by just taking me upstairs and seeing to it the old-fashioned way."
He grows rigid at her off-handed comment, and she curses inwardly. He turns to look at her, his normally vivid blue eyes looking tired and drawn.
"Don't tease me, Carol."
"I didn't mean to."
"You could have fooled me."
He rises to go, but her ire is up now and she's having none of it. She grabs him by the wrist before he can retreat and stands to face him.
"Oi! Don't you dare walk out on me, Tony."
"Pick a donor yourself, Carol. I can't imagine it'll make much difference one way or the other since you're so determined to do this all on your own." He's not actually yelling, but neither is his voice the balanced and controlled timbre of their usual conversation.
Her voice escalates to match his. "I DON'T want to do this on my own. If you recall, I asked YOU to father my child and you turned me down."
His composure is slipping. His reply surprises them both with his vehemence. "You most certainly did not."
"I beg your pardon?"
He advances on her and she finds herself backing up to avoid the intensity of his gaze.
"You didn't ask me to father a child with you. You asked me to be a donor, Carol. It's not the same thing."
"Semantics, Tony!"
"No, not semantics! Can't you see the difference?' His voice, previously so close to yelling, scales down to almost a whisper. It sounds like a caress. 'When we make love, there is a coming together. You allow me inside of you. You encompass me. It's a joining. Intimate. And you nurture the evidence of our intimacy inside you.' He presses his open hand to her stomach; the warmth of his touch radiates through her body. 'It's about two people, Carol. Two whole people, coming together to create something that eclipses themselves."
He withdraws his hand, and she's hit with an overpowering ache of yearning. All she wants is for him to touch her again. Instead, he waves his hand at the binders on the floor as he continues. "But, this? This is all about you. You want to create a life all by yourself and raise that life as you see fit. You don't need me. What's more, you don't want me. All you want from me is the raw material. You'll do all the creation by yourself. You'll do all the work, by yourself. You want me to wank into a paper cup and jog on!"
Realization hits her like a punch in the stomach, and she has to fight back tears.
"Tony...that night at Antonio's...was that meant to be a date?"
He doesn't answer her with words, but his eyes drop to the floor and the expression on his face speaks volumes. She lays her hand on his shoulder in what could be a friendly gesture, but the tension that crackles between them makes it seem anything but chaste.
"Tony...have I been asking you the wrong question?"
She knows she's hit a nerve when he bolts for the door without a word.