"Damn. Damn damn damn damn."
The rain was pounding down harder now as Zoe hopped off the bus, her bag under one arm and a broken umbrella clasped in her hand. She had hoped that an evening in May would be dry and bright, not cloudy and rainy and truly horrible.
Agreeing to take the late shift was a bad idea, as were her choice of shoes - Zoe almost stumbled on a piece of uneven paving slab and sacrificed her folder for maintaining her balance, watching her papers scatter and stick to the rain-covered paving slabs. On her hands and knees, surrendering her umbrella to the wind by pressing it beneath one arm and flinching as it managed to launch itself inside out for the fifth time on that particular journey, Zoe collected the ruined papers in her arms and scurried along the street as quickly as she was able, never being so thrilled to see Thames House.
It was an effort and a half to find her key pass and balance her bag and folder and dripping umbrella. Zoe dropped all of her gear under her desk and ran a hand through her soaked hair. No-one seemed to be here, thank goodness, and she wondered if she had time to change into the spare clothes in her locker before starting her gruelling shift in which she had to sort through her now-soaked paperwork.
Zoe crept to the lockers and changed as quickly as she was able, discarding her sodden clothes to rest on the radiator, and snuck back to the Grid.
"Did you walk?"
Zoe hadn't even noticed he was here. "No, I got the bus, but my umbrella broke. And then I dropped all my paperwork," she explained hurriedly, sounding so childish.
"Let's sort through it." Tom plucked the still-dripping folder from her desk and started peeling the pages apart.
"Tom, you should go home. I've got the late shift."
"It'll take less time with two pairs of hands," he said matter-of-factly, not moving his eyes from the folder.
Zoe ran her hand through her hair and perched on her chair, gathering some of the papers and smiling gratefully.
...
A few hours later Zoe caved and went for the kettle, pouring herself a boiling mug of coffee and plunking it amongst the paperwork. Tom had left a while ago – Zoe insisted that he should attempt some sleep at such an hour – and although the papers were now drying, their edges crinkling, Zoe still had to sort through them all, reading for filing bright and early tomorrow morning.
She took a sip of the coffee and felt the hotness spreading down her throat, the warmth leaching into her hands, and was grateful for the warmth of the Grid compared to the chilled street. The rain was still drumming the roof, and the occasional rumble of thunder made Zoe flinch.
As one am crawled past the clock she considered going home to sleep but the paperwork coaxed her to stay: she compromised with a nap at her desk. But then at 3am when a fresh ripple of thunder jolted through the building, Zoe jerked awake, her arm lurching out in shock at the sound and destroying the perfectly balanced pile of papers which she had diligently been organising for hours.
"Damn. Damn damn damn damn."