Work Text
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting, there was a pile-up on A1010 again and someone almost crashed into me and -” She pauses, sitting down across from him, and takes a deep breath. “And I’m rambling. Again, I’m really sorry, have you been waiting long?” He blinks, momentarily overwhelmed, by the rush of words as much as by the sight of her, the contrast of her dark hair against the deep red of her dress, the faint flush to her cheeks, before settling on: “Are you alright?” “I’m fine,” She assures him, with only a tinge of awkwardness to her smile,” I’m just glad I made it before you decided to leave. Oh-” Her eyes widen, that faint blush deepening ever so slightly - and he couldn’t tear his eyes from her if he tried. “I’m Jane, by the way. I don’t know if Mike told you, because he refused to tell me your name. Or anything other than where to show up and who to look for - you know how he can be.” This time he recovers faster, returning her smile with ease. “Yes, of course. I’m Andrew - Andy, to my friends.” “Andy it is,” She replies, chipper, and is about to say something else when one of the waiters interrupts her by offering her a menu, which she accepts with a polite thank you, before returning her attention to him, “Did you order already?” “No, I thought it best to wait for you.” “Such a gentleman,” She muses, sounding pleased, and then asks if he has any recommendations on the wine. They make their orders and are left to themselves again, regarding each other over the small expanse of white tablecloth. “So, Andy, Mike may have mentioned you only moved back to London recently?” She asks, toying with the edge of her serviette, but keeping her eyes on his face. “I - yes, I spend some time in America. Canada, the northern States. A beautiful landscape, but-” He shrugs, gives her a wry smile, “One does get homesick, after a while.” She hmms, tilting her head in consideration. “That’s true, I suppose. I mean, I do like to travel, but I can’t really imagine living anywhere else, and even after a great vacation it’s just nice to come home, you know?” He nods. “I do. You’re from here, then? London, I mean-” “Yep - well, Birmingham, originally. That’s how I know Mike, too, went to the same school and all. But since moving out I’ve only lived in London. Which must sound terribly boring to you, now that I think about it.” “Not in the slightest,” He says, appalled at the mere suggestion, “I think you’re entirely right, this is the place to live. The Americas may have an abundance of space, but London has charm, and I’ve rather enjoyed rediscovering that. But you said you like to travel?” “I do and I’ve actually been to the States, too. California, though, and only for two weeks. I keep thinking I’d like to go to Canada, see Toronto, at least, but then I also like to spend my vacation somewhere warm and a bit less rainy, so I end up going to Spain again, or Turkey. And I have family in East Malaysia, so that’s a regular destination.” She tells him, happy to share, just as he is happy to listen. “I’ve never been to Malaysia,” He admits, “But I imagine it’s beautiful. Although I suppose I’ve always favoured a cold and rainy climate myself.” “Oh, we’ll never work out then,” She sighs, dramatically, only to giggle at the immediate flash of regret in his eyes. “I’m kidding! Maybe, once that homesickness of yours has settled down again, I can change your mind? Or at least give you a tour, because believe me, it is beautiful.” “I think I’d like that very much.” He replies after a moment and the smile it earns him is so lovely, it could have him agree to a worrying amount of things. The conversation carries on in much the same tone, a pleasant trade off of questions and answers.
What does he do that leaves him so much time for travel? He’s a writer - mostly articles on natural history, but also the occasional bit of fiction.
“A struggling artist on the side”, He says and is pleased to hear her laugh. Does she happen to enjoy reading? Yes, although when it comes to non-fiction, she’s more familiar with astrophysics than natural history. And also the occasional trashy romance novel - but only if it is really trashy.
Would he mind showing her one of his stories some time? He’d love to and he thinks she might enjoy them - his sister repeatedly mentioned they’re absolute trash.
“So a younger sister then?” She guesses, receiving a affirmative nod. “Quite a bit younger - her name is Ellen and she is an absolute terror, and yet I somehow missed her the most while I was gone.”
Does she have siblings? Yes, an older sister, but she moved to Lyon with her husband, so now she needs to pick fights with other people.
And so on. “Do you always eat that slowly?” Her tone is curious rather than judgmental, although he still averts her eyes, dropping his gaze to his plate - still half full, while hers must have been empty for a while now. “I may have overdone it with the stalling. And now it’s cold.” She snorts, charmingly indelicate. “That’s a shame, because I don’t think a place this fancy offers doggy bags. Would it make you feel better if I told you that I had a lovely time and wouldn’t mind doing this again?” "Absolutely." That’s all he wants right now, anyway, just a little more time with her. He insists on paying and then on walking her to her car, even if it’s parked only a few hundred yards from the restaurant. “If I’d known it was going to be this nice, I might have let Mike talk me into it earlier,” She muses as they make their way down the sidewalk at a rather leisurely pace and it’s only when they’re almost at the car and she’s ruffling through her bag to find her keys that he takes a deep breath and solemnly states. “There is something you should know.” “Okay?” She prompts, when her search is successfully concluded and he doesn’t continue on his own. Another moment of silence follows, before he finally speaks up. “I've never met this Mike you keep mentioning. And I also didn’t come here tonight for a blind date, but to meet up with my sister. Yet when she didn’t show and I was about to leave, you appeared. And when you assumed I was who you were looking for, I couldn’t bring myself to correct you. You have every right to be upset with me for this, but please-” He stops, because she doesn’t look upset. No, to his surprise, she looks like she’s desperately trying not to interrupt him by letting out a laugh. “I’m so sorry,” She eventually gets out, “It’s just - I already knew that.” “Oh,” He says, a little baffled, but more than that simply relieved. “How come?” “When I went to the bathroom before, it was to check why my phone kept buzzing - you know, in case it was an emergency. But it was actually just Mike, yelling at me about where I was and how I could stand up his poor buddy Pete and how he would never set me up with anyone again.” “I’m - sorry?” He offers, as it was certainly never his intention to get her in trouble with her friend, but she only shakes her head, still alight with the remnants of her laughter. And then she looks him straight in the eyes and decisively states. “I’m not.” So he kisses her. He’s been dying to touch her all night, from the moment he first laid eyes on her, and it’s exactly as glorious as he thought it would be to finally give in. Her palm is so warm against his cheek and her hair whispers like silk through his fingers and the eagerness with which she returns the kiss is nothing short of intoxicating. She pulls him closer, by the front of his shirt, until he’s backing her against her car and that can’t possibly be a comfortable position for her, but she doesn’t seem to care and he can’t quite bring himself to either, not with her tongue caressing his own and her heartbeat singing in his ears. Letting her go is the last thing he ever wants to do, but he needs to, and she needs to breathe, at some point, so he does it anyway. And it takes all the strength he has left not to lean in again when she opens her eyes, dark as the night around them and so full of desire he aches with it. “Would-” She begins, pauses, tries to catch her breath, “Would you-” “I really shouldn’t”, He interrupts, because it’s the truth and if she finishes that sentence he can’t guarantee that will be enough. For a moment she looks terribly conflicted, but then she closes her eyes and takes another deep breath and, finally, nods. “Alright, you’re - you’re right. Will - I mean, I’ll see you again, right? Soon?” “Of course,” He says, because there is no other answer and then he reaches out to caress her cheek one final time, because he is weak. “Get home safe.” “You, too,” She murmurs as he steps back, and so he says, again ‘Of course’ and then turns to disappear further down the road, while he still can. A few moments later, Jane finally opens her car to unceremoniously drop her bag into the passenger's seat and herself behind the wheel. Her phone buzzes again and she doesn’t have to check to know it’s Mike, but she fishes it up anyway, from where it rests above the untouched stake. did you get your sucker yet? luke got the small one cornered but i think he needs help the message reads. She drops her head into her hands with a groan. The boys are never going to let her live this down.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
She thinks there’s someone crying in the cell next to hers. Or maybe her auditory processors are malfunctioning. That seems more likely - they weren’t careful about removing her exoplating, she thinks her ocular implant may have been damaged as well. And Drones don’t cry. That much she remembers. Even if it is really really dark in here and she is so terribly alone in her own mind. Maybe whoever is crying, if there actually is someone crying, has the right idea. The medical unit - no, the doctor had said most things would come back with time. Probably. Until then, it would be best for everyone if they were stored somewhere safe - not stored. Kept? Kept. Apart from each other, too. For safety. Thus, holding cells. She doesn’t even know how she knows what holding cells are. Has she been in one before? Is that just something people know? There is definitely a sound coming from the next cell, something - hiccupy? Is that a word? And then the noises grow more muffled. Putting a hand over their mouth to muffle the crying. Something about that thought makes her feel - bad. So she carefully raps her knuckles against the wall separating them - even if that feels bad, too just - different bad? - and rasps a Hey. She doesn’t like how her voice sounds, because it doesn’t sound like her voice - even if she can’t remember what her voice is supposed to sound like. Not like this, at least. That’s something, right? There’s no reaction from the other side, so she tries again. “Hey, are you - are you -” Are they what? Okay? No, they’re crying. People who are okay don’t cry, usually. She thinks. So what is she meant to ask? “Can I - help?” This time there is a different sound, but she doesn’t know how to parse that one. She’s about to give up and let whoever is on the other side of that wall cry themselves out in peace, when she finally gets a response. “No,” They say and their voice is raw, too, but not like hers, not like a Drone, “No, I don’t think you can.” It sounds so terribly - defeated. Defeated and lost and it pulls at - the point where the auxiliary PSU of her force shield used to be located, right in the middle of her chest. “I’m sorry,” She croaks, because she has to, even if it won’t make anything better. “It’s fine,” They reply and that doesn’t make anything better, either, because it’s not true, even if she wants it to be, for them and for herself. “It’s not your fault - it’s - Fuck, it’s my fault, I should never have-” The crying grows louder for a breath, and then quiet again, muffled. And that still pulls at her - it still hurts. But it also pulls in a different direction, at a different - thing. That voice - She doesn’t know that voice, but she feels like she should know that voice. Like she’s heard it - like she heard him say almost the same thing in an entirely different context, a lifetime ago.
“It’s not your fault, okay? It’s mine, I should have paid more attention-”
Oh god. Her head feels like it’s about to split, the memory desperately trying to slither away from her, but she digs her claws in, because -
“- if anyone can do it, it’s you, okay? So stop moping and show them-”
She knows this voice, of course she knows this voice, she wouldn’t be able to remember a time before she knew his voice even if she could remember the rest of her life -
“- because it’s going to take a lot more than getting stationed at the edge of the Delta Quadrant for you to get rid of us-”
That - she remembers that. Learning that she’d be sent to Tyrion3, feeling - excited and terrified and - and sad, because what if she never saw her family again? Or any of her friends? Or- “Andy?” Her voice doesn’t feel that loud, but the crying stops immediately, followed by short moment of utter silence before- “How do you - Jane?! Jane is that you? Please, Jane, please tell me it’s you, I don’t- I didn’t -” Jane, she thinks, and if anything, that feels - more right than Two of Five. A lot more right. She might even say she likes it. And if this is Andy - and she knows it’s Andy - and Andy thinks she’s Jane, then - “I - I think so?” “Oh god,” He says and she hears something thud against the wall. She really hopes he didn’t hurt himself. No, wait, Andy isn’t the one who tends to get hurt, that is - that is - It’s not all there yet, and that is so frustrating, but there are pieces now, faces, other voices that aren’t Andy, even if they’re not quite as clear. People she remember missing and worrying about, and then - when the Collective took her -
oh god please don’t come looking for me please I don’t want this to happen to you I don’t want to have to do this to you please please please-
“Andy, what are you doing here?” His breathing isn’t quite back to normal yet, and there is still a hitch to his voice despite how hard he tries for nonchalance when he answers, “You mean here, in the holding cell of a Tyrakhean freighter or here, at the edge of the Delta Quadrant and also in the holding cell of a Tyrakhean freighter?” And that - that answer is so, so Andy - There’s another hiccupy noise, but she thinks that might have been her this time. It’s really painful on her throat, anyway. “Jane? Jane, please don’t cry, I’m sorry it - it was a stupid joke, I’m sorry-” “It’s okay,” She presses out and somehow that does help, this time, “It’s okay, I just - I just missed you, I think.” “Oh,” He says, very softly and then, “I missed you, too. I thought you were - they told us - the attack on the station -” She hears him pause, breathe, try again. “I crashed the ship into the Borg cube. The one you were in. That’s why - that’s why I’m here.” “You - what?” “Crashed the ship. Or, made it crash. Ellen” - ellen, bright laugh, brighter mind, horrible puns, Ellen - “helped, she wrote the code to take over the piloting software. Mike” - mike, always calm, always safe, always leaving chaos in his wake, Mike - “ wanted to come along and crash it manually, but that seemed kind of - not great, with the high risk of failure? And the munchkin” - oh, mike, she looks just like you, i wish i could be there- ” just turned two, so - he helped Ellen with the piloting stuff, instead. I just - I just had to get it here.” “To crash the ship into a Borg cube,” She echoes, because forming a new sentence would require processing exactly what he just told her and - no. No. “Yep. Turns out, the rest of the crew didn’t appreciate that much. Or the Borg. I mean, the Borg didn’t appreciate being crashed into much, not that the Borg weren’t appreciated by the crew, although, well, they also weren’t.” “Andy,” She says, because she doesn’t know what to do with this feeling in her chest and reminding herself that he’s there makes it better. “But, you know, it worked out fine! Because the Borg weren’t expecting to be crashed into and also, apparently, some of you were taking the link things offline from inside?” “Interlink nodes,” She corrects out of pure reflex. “Right, those, so they couldn’t fight right and the security officers had a fairly easy time dealing with the rest.” He pauses and when he continues his voice is so, so tender , “I think someone mentioned that that's why all of your memories are messed up, because you were fighting them from the inside? I - I knew you’d do it, Jane. If anyone could get out of there, it would be you. Just needed me to come pick you up, right?” It’s too much - she isn’t sure she’d know how to deal with it even if she had her whole self to do so. What she does know how to deal with, however, is the security force field on these cells, because it’s only a level three, created by a standard federation generator and she’d be able to remodulate that with a pen knife and some patience, if she had to. And while she doesn’t have either of those right now, what she does have is a kinetic emitter directly implanted above her ulnar artery - too close to ever be safely removed again, and that might as well be a good thing. If she were more - or less? - herself right now, she’d take a moment to harshly judge the security protocol in effect here, while the field flickers and then dies in front of her. The Drone - person in the cell across from hers doesn’t even move, but that’s fine, the only person she cares to see right now is - “Jane? Did - did something just happen to your cell? Are you alright? Please say something!” Jane. She is, at this point, reasonably certain that she is Jane. But - she doesn’t look like Jane anymore, does she? Even if she can’t recall for sure what Jane is meant to look like, yet. Not like this, certainly, more bandages and cybernetics than human flesh. She’ll probably never look like Jane again, not like the Jane Andy came looking for, anyway. She might even never really be the Jane he came looking for again. And if he sees her now, if he sees that now, is he - will he - And then a new voice in her head - kind, supportive, mildly insane - Luke? - reminds her that ‘Andy traveled all the way to the Delta Quadrant to crash a freight ship into a Borg cube for you, I don’t think there’s anything in this universe that could make him leave you behind’. It’s followed by a very familiar voice outside her head, calling her name again and packing so much terror into the single sound that it wrenches her forward, all her own fears forgotten. And then she’s standing in front of his cell and even through the sheet of faintly glowing energy it’s so clearly Andy - and she hasn’t seen him since - since they - and even before that only on grainy communications screens and - and it’s Andy. “Jane?” He breathes and instead of an answer she zaps the shield generator above his cell. He doesn’t flinch or recoil from her in horror, instead he rushes forward, like he means to hug her - and then freezes. And just when she’s about to think ‘Oh, that’s it, then’, he reaches out and brushes his thumb over her right cheek in the softest possible touch to one of the few remaining patches of her skin they haven’t cut up and - Oh. “You’re here,” He says, like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever witnessed - and he’s looking at her like it, too. “You’re really here.” She doesn't know what to reply to that, probably couldn't even if she did, her throat feeling painfully tight again. So she places her hand over his, keeping it pressed to her cheek, grounding herself in the knowledge that he's here, too. Like he's always been, even if it means crossing half of the known universe to get here. There will be consequences to all of this - hijacking a ship and attacking a Borg cube and freeing several dozen of Drones. Breaking out of their cells, too, probably. But that's a problem for later. Right now all that matters is that they're here and alive and together. The rest of the universe can wait its turn.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
When Luke calls her to ask if she’d be interested in joining in on his current job, she almost says no. The ongoing gig she’s running with Alex is paying more than enough to support her current lifestyle, and regularly to, which is quite the step-up from counting cards and selling counterfeit poker chips. Plus, she genuinely enjoys the work that goes into forging - figuring out how to recreate different paints and how to properly apply them, learning to correctly age a painting, keeping up with the newest methods of analysis deployed by critics, all that good stuff. She’s got a talent for it, too - just last month she visited an exhibition on art forgery in Heidelberg only to find one of her earliest attempts at Cézanne - Portrait of the Gardiner Vallier - among the works on display, assigned to Unknown. The pamphlet had nothing but teeth-clenched praise for the precision of her brush strokes and understanding of her subject's approach to color, so now it’s pinned to her fridge at home - for motivational purposes. But then, this is Luke asking and she’s known him since he got started, fencing watches and jewelry for Johnny, and he’s the one who introduced her to Aiofe, through whom she met Alex, so she kind of owes him one. And also, the last score he brought her on for - selling the good people of Kensington a subscription to a weekly supply of Himalayan spring water, definitely not just from the tap, bottled and shipped from his old place in Kent - was a blast, even if it didn’t work as long as they’d hoped. Also, also, who is she to refuse the possibility of some extra pocket money? So she agrees to hear him out. “Brilliant.” He says, “Because we’ve got a good team here and I’m reasonably confident we can pull this off, but it would be much easier with an additional person to work the crowd and I know you’re the perfect woman for the job.” Such a smooth talker, Jane thinks, smiling, because that’s one of the things she enjoyed most about working with Luke, listening to him spin his spiel until she almost believed it herself. “Flattery will get you anywhere, Westaway. Now what’s the job and, more importantly, who is we?” “Well,” He begins and she can’t help but grin wider, because here comes the sales pitch. “There’s Ellen, of course.” Of course, Jane mentally nods along, that’s a given with Luke these days and a boon for any bigger job - the security system capable of keeping out Ellen Rose has not been invented yet. “And also Mike Channel, who you probably won’t know-” Indeed, she does not, but if Luke vouches for him, she’s willing to trust his word, “- because he’s been pretty exclusively working for one specific person, but trust me, he knows his stuff. Which brings us to-” A dramatic pause, apparently, before he continues, “- well, I presume you’ve heard of Andy Farrant?” Jane feels her eyebrows rise. Of course she’s heard of Andy Farrant. Every kid doing three-card monte on a street corner has heard of Andy Farrant, she imagines. And of the ridiculously over the top schemes he has pulled off - and continues to pull off, walking away free every time, somehow. So yeah, Jane has bloody well heard of Andy Farrant. Never met him, no - done her best not to, even, staying well away from any place he may be associated with or take an interest in, as far out of his backwash as humanly possible. Getting in the way of someone this - preeminent just couldn’t end well. Except now Luke is working with him, apparently. Talk about a sales pitch. “Alright,” She says, like her shocked silence hasn’t told Luke everything he needed to hear. “So this is a really big job we’re talking about then?” To his credit, he doesn’t sound nearly as smug as she would in his place when he responds. “Let’s just say, I wouldn’t worry about getting an adequate cut, if I were you. If we pull this off, of course.” Which they probably will, if even half of what she’s heard about Andy Farrant is actually true. “You still haven’t told me any details on the actual job.” “Yes, about that,” Luke continues, chipper as always, “Andy said he’d prefer to tell you himself, if you’re in - and if you’re willing to meet him, for a bit of a trial run?” Which is about what she expected, as soon as his name came up. Of course he’ll need more than just Luke’s word on her skills. And of course she’s in - how could she not be? “Just tell me where and when.” And that is that. * When she arrives at Arabian Night’s ten minutes early, in hopes of maybe getting some ideas of what the plan might be from there on, he’s already there, waiting for her at one of the small tables directly by the front window. Not that she’s terribly surprised - with the stunts he’s pulled, there’s probably no such thing as being over prepared. He’s handsome, she notes, with a lovely beard and the kind of bright blue eyes it's far too easy to get caught by, and the smile he greets her with is perfectly charming. She mimics the expression on reflex as she approaches, taking in his choice of clothing - a dark blue jacket, excellent cut but plain enough to pass as casual chic, over a white button down and dark jeans, elegant yet unobtrusive - and being taken in herself in turn. She’s opted for something equally simple - a dark blue silk top that just so covers her midriff and a knee length, dark skirt, tame enough not to get her barred from the more exclusive venues, yet revealing enough to open her a door or two, should she require it, plus a dark overcoat for warmth - after a quick google search of the address he’d sent her. And then an equally quick giggle at the rather dingy kebab shop she’d found hiding behind the name. They’re certainly overdressed for that, just like everyone else stopping by for a short break from the colourful buzz of Soho’s nightlife, and, to her pleasant surprise, matching as well. She’d thought about asking what he’d wear to orchestrate just that, but then there is such a thing as seeming too eager. “Jane Douglas, I presume,” He says, when she sits down across from him, and she gives him a short nod as confirmation. “Luke has nothing but praise for you and while I do trust his judgement, I’d still prefer to see your skills for myself before I give you all the details.” He gets right to business, she can appreciate that. “Luke hasn’t told me much of anything, so it would be nice to get the basics, at least, before I make any decisions.” “That’s fair,” He agrees. “The gist of it, if you will, is that in roughly a month’s time there will be a rather exclusive dinner hosted at the Hippodrome, by the lovely Lady Compton and her current husband, for a rather odd mix of guests - on one hand, there will be the expected crowd of their peers, on the other, an international variety of, well, purveyors of antiquities, would be one word for it, I suppose.” “‘course those rich fucks can’t just stick to the back alleys like the rest of us,” She quips, borrowing from Alex' vocabulary, and then has to hide her pleasure at the way he chuckles, surprised but warm. “Indeed,” He says, before continuing, “They all intend to make use of the venue’s several specialized security measures, including the secondary vault. And we intend to make them regret that choice.” A fancy casino, a few gentry aresholes, black market antiques and then stealing those right from under their noses? Be still, her heart. “I do enjoy a chance to dress up,” She says, also enjoying the way he smiles at that. “So what did you have in mind, to ‘test my skills’?” His smile grows a bit sharper, and she finds she enjoys that, too, before he promptly gets up, offering his hand to help her stand as well. “I’m so glad you asked, do you mind if I explain while we walk?” She doesn’t and so she takes his hand. * What he needs is, as Luke mentioned, someone to work the crowd. More precisely, he explains while leading her down the road towards Piccadilly Circus, someone who can keep an eye on and distract key people and warn the rest of the team if need be, while he can’t be in the room. They move past brightly lit shop windows and overcrowded pubs, swaths of mild to moderately tipsy people spilling out into the night and merging into the already bustling crowd, shoving the two of them this way and that, until Jane gives up and loops her arm through his, anchoring them together. If the touch bothers him, he doesn’t let it show, simply continuing to forge a way forward through the roiling sea of people. “I don’t doubt that you’d have no trouble dazzling London’s finest or convincing their more illicit guests that you have every right to walk among them,” He says, tilting his head towards hers and she quietly muses how they must look now, to the strangers passing them, like a pair of lovers on an evening stroll rather than two thieves on the prowl. “Especially since Luke mentioned you’re quite knowledgeable when it comes to art.” “If by art you mean paintings,” She interjects, “Telling a Carravaggio and a Gentileschi apart won’t do much good when what’s being sold are mostly pilfered African relics.” Out of the corner of her eye she sees his lips tick up into a smile again, like he knows perfectly well she’s just fishing for more details he isn’t yet willing to give. “That’s already more than half those shills are capable of.” With that he takes a sharp left, leading her down a far less frequented alleyway until finally coming to a stop in front of a dark shop window, Gilham’s Liqueurs, already closed for the day. “What I’d like - or rather, need to see for myself is how good you are at thinking on your feet.” He says and then, with a nod to a warmly lit entryway further down the alley, “So what we’re going to do is get into that club and then all the way to the owner's office to have a quick look at his personal computer. You take the lead and I’ll go along with anything you say.” Which sounds - like about what she expected, in terms of difficulty. Not easy, but not impossible either. Another glance at the entryway reveals the club’s name to be l'azur, and that - that rings a bell, actually. Alex mentioned this place, as one of several she likes to meet potential customers. ’Nothing like an invite only to convince some rich fuck you’re legit’, she’d told her. What a coincidence, Jane thinks to herself, before inquiring. “Any information you’d like to share before we head in?” “The owner shouldn’t be in, he only ever drops by Mondays or Thursdays. And his office is on the top floor, near the VIP Lounge.” He readily imparts, which, again, is very lucky if he only came up with this little test right before meeting with her, but she isn’t about to call him out on that just yet. “Alright,” She says instead, before she slips her hand down into his again and begins to haul him towards the entryway, several plans already half formed in her mind. “Name?” The bouncer asks as soon as they step in front of him, but then doesn’t even check his pad when she tells him they’re here to meet Lolies, simply waving them through. If Alex asks her about it later, she’ll simply tell her she was trying to impress a date - and maybe, if this all works out, buy her that Cartier watch she’s been gushing over. As a thank you. If they don’t get caught, in which case Alex will probably never, ever let her live this down. They take the elevator to the top floor, where a bright pink sign declares the entrance to the VIP Lounge plus rooftop access to the right. So she pulls Andy left, down the more dimly lit hall and past another sign pointing towards the lavatories. Along the way they pass two giggly young women in colorful cocktail dresses and an even younger man in all black who must be part of the staff, but no one else. Chances are this place is tiptoeing the fine line between exclusive and unknown - not drawing many guests and therefore not requiring that much staff, some rich kids pet project rather than a genuine business venture. But then, that can only work in her favour. At the end of the hall, they find themselves between two doors - one leading to a set of stairs, clearly intended as an emergency exit, the other labeled ‘STAFF ONLY’, in bold white letters. Jane gives it an experimental shove, and when it swings open without issue, peeks her head into the space beyond to find another short but fortunately empty hallway. “Going for the daring approach, I see,” She hears Andy murmur behind her, although he makes no move to stop her when she pushes past the door, following her lead just like he promised. “Hanging around will only increase our chances of being seen by someone who shouldn’t,” She replies, just as quietly. “And isn’t fortune supposed to favour the bold?” He mutters something else - about never introducing her to Mike, she thinks, but doesn’t bother listening too closely, focusing her attention on their surroundings instead. This hallway contains a staff room and a small balcony, both of which are deserted, and at the end of it, a fairly nondescript door with an electronic lock. If his intel is right - and she dearly hopes it is - that seems like the place to go. She takes hold of his hand again, tugging him along until he’s crowding her against the door, so that to anyone stumbling in they’ll simply look like an inebriated couple picking the wrong spot for a moment of privacy. “Wouldn’t happen to know the code, would you?” She asks, trying to keep her focus on the keypad when he answers in the negative and the words brush directly past her cheek. Not that there is much to focus on, besides the brand embossed at the top - Locksly.
So, because the night has been going her way so far, she tries that first - 562559. The lock beeps in confirmation, she turns the handle until it clicks and they’re in. “Are you kidding me?” Andy mutters behind her, which is fair, but also, why look a gift opportunity in the horse mouth? So, with a shrug, she slips inside, flicking the light on as she goes. The office is small and sparsely decorated, clearly not meant for extended visits, adding to her theory that this is just the overblown toy of some trust fund baby. She waves Andy past and then closes the door behind him, while he heads straight for the computer sitting on a sleek metal desk in front of a panoramic window that might grant a beautiful view of London at night, if the shutters weren’t drawn. Considering her part concluded for now, Jane settles in to observe as he gets to work, producing an USB stick from one of his pockets and plugging it in before starting the computer. Brute forcing his way in - Ellen’s work, if she’d have to guess. The username catches her eye as the script does its work - f. thomas. Huh. First Lolies’ name opening them the door, now this. Coincidence after coincidence, is it? “So, what would you have done if I hadn’t agreed to this trial run?” She asks, keeping her tone nonchalant. To his credit, he doesn’t ask what she means or try to weasel his way out of the implicit accusation, and that’s another thing she can appreciate even if it doesn’t quite weigh up the unpleasant sensation of being played. “Probably snuck up via the fire escape,” He admits, his smile more impressed than guilty at being caught and she’s somewhat annoyed with herself for how charming she finds that. ”And had a lot more trouble with all of this, too.” She keeps her gaze on him until he meets it with those keen blue eyes of his. “Is that how it’s going to be, working with you? Never all cards on the table?” “Would that be a deal breaker?” He immediately asks and the question seems genuine, so she tilts her head, taking her time to consider. For a single job, especially one that pays well? No. For something long term, on the other hand? ... does she want this to become something long term? The computer beeps, startling them both and he quickly turns back to the screen. “How about this,” He offers, while finishing up whatever task they actually came here for. “As soon as we’re out of here, I’ll tell you the whole plan and answer every question you have. And then you can decide from there whether you still want in or not.” Which sounds - more than fair, really, if not too good to be true, but then she can’t deny that she’s already willing to give him far more leeway than she might anyone else she just met and she can’t help but feel like that’s somewhat mutual. A reciprocal blind spot - that should make her want to turn tail and run, for both their sake, and yet - He wants her to say yes and she wants to say yes, and really, she’s never been all that good at denying herself something she wants. “Alright, let’s get out of here, then.” “Right behind you,” He says, pocketing the USB stick again, still with that damn smile and if she rolls her eyes it’s mostly at herself. Of course the second they’re back in the hall, the door on the other end begins to open, because things were going just a little too smoothly up until now. So Jane doesn't waste time on thinking and just acts. She spins around, pulling the door shut behind him before pushing him against it with her body, then uses her free hand to snatch his and place it firmly on her butt while silencing his resulting gasp with a kiss. There is nothing chaste or sweet about it - there can’t be, not when they need whoever is about to walk in on them to believe that this has been going for a while - and she might be a bit peeved at how effortlessly he follows along, if the sheer fervour with which he returns the kiss didn’t leave her dizzy. And if he later claims that the squeeze he gives her was just to sell the show, she’ll say the same about the little moan that tumbles out of her mouth, directly into his. “Uh - e-excuse me?” A meek voice calls from somewhere behind her, but she pays it no mind - because she’s being convincing, and for no other reason. Andy’s other hand has come to cradle her face, his thumb tracing along her cheekbone with a tenderness that feels almost misplaced among all the passion and she finds she rather enjoys that. “Uhm, Sir? M-Miss?” The voice calls again, louder now. “You - you can’t be back here.” It’s her cue to pull away, put on the next act of the play, whether that’s ‘entitled socialites indignant at being interrupted by the staff’ or ‘brand new couple to drunk and in love to care about propriety’ , but god, the way he looks at her when she tries, the way his pupils eclipse the blue of his eyes - She averts her own, casting a glance over her shoulder to find that they’re in luck yet again. It’s the young man from before - a boy, really, no older than eighteen, just barely allowed to work here and visibly stressed by the whole situation. It takes little more than batting her eyelashes and telling him how terribly sorry they are, how they just weren’t paying attention for him to let them go, which is good, because she doesn’t trust herself to sell a more complex lie, not with the way her heart is still racing. And then they’re out of the hallway, out of the club and back on the street, Andy’s hand firmly clasped in hers throughout and it’s only with the first breath of cool night air that her buzzing thoughts begin to calm again. “So, do I have the job?” She asks, with more confidence than she necessarily feels, and only because she’s fairly certain that his answer will be a resounding yes. So when instead he says nothing, only keeps looking at her with an expression she can’t quite read, it makes her more than a little nervous. “I’m going to be honest,” He finally begins and she doesn’t interrupt, even if she isn’t entirely sure she wants him to be, "I don’t doubt that you’d have everyone in that room wrapped around your little finger within minutes and that would definitely help our plan. But the problem is, you’re not just going to distract our targets, you’re going to distract me - and I don’t think I can risk that.” Oh. That’s - not what she’d thought he'd say. That’s also, if you ask her, not exactly a problem - or at least not one that can’t be solved rather easily. So she takes another deep breath and then that half a step close that still separates them, right back into his space, allowing herself the tiniest sight of relief when he makes no move to step back. “You said we still have about a month, that’s plenty of time to get this out of our systems,” She tells him, enjoying the way he leans towards her, his gaze immediately dropping to her mouth, free hand rising to cradle her cheek again. “You make a compelling augment,” He murmurs against her lips. And to be quite honest? Take or leave the job, she already has her prize.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
I In his defence, it all happens very fast. He’s just minding his own business, waiting for Dan and trying to stay out of the crush of the crowd while he does, when she rushes up to him, clearly in a hurry and with the overhead lighting catching in her dark hair like a halo, shooting him the quickest of polite smiles before saying, “‘scuse me, but do you know how to get to the Fable 3 panel from here?” Which he does, so he tells her - ‘Sure, you see the Konami stage? Just head right past that and then left and you should be able to spot the sign’, or something; he has, for obvious reasons, a much harder time remembering his own exact words - and then she thanks him profusely and leaves in the direction he indicated, disappearing seamlessly into the mass of people. And for a moment everything is fine and he’s just glad he was able to help - and then his brain catches up with her exact words. The exact words she just said to him. The exact words that have been sprawled along his right shoulder since he was about sixteen years old, long before there even was a Fable 1, never mind a Fable 3, and he couldn’t yet decipher why his soulmate might ever ask him something like that. And okay, sure, maybe he should have been paying a little more attention - seeing as he was currently at the convention hosting said panel, among others, which somewhat heightened the chance of being asked this exact question to, say, astronomical degrees. But, again, it happened very fast and he wasn’t expecting it and also, maybe, a bit distracted by, well, her - look, she’s his soulmate, that should give him a free pass for starring - and now she’s gone. And he has no idea how to find her and there are several thousand people here and - “Fuck! ” He rises onto the tips of his toes, hoping against hope to catch another glance of her amongst all the people milling about, of course to no avail. Her curses again, the tail end of which is caught by Dan, who chooses that moment to finally show up. “What’s up with you, someone swipe your wallet?” He asks, regarding him quizzically. “No,” Andy snaps, running a hand through his hair as he gives up on his fruitless search, “Met my soulmate, didn’t realize, now she’s gone.” “Oh shit,” Dan says, “You’re sure it was her?” “She asked the exact thing, about the-” The Fable 3 panel, that’s where she was going, so that’s where she has to be now, right? “Be right back!” He calls, paying no attention to Dan’s reply as he runs off in the direction he sent her mere minutes ago. She has to be there. She has to.
But she isn’t. There are dozens of people milling around, and while he spots a handful of familiar faces, hers isn’t among them. He’s certain he’d notice her if she were there, even though he’s only seen her for a minute at best. He can’t possibly miss his soulmate twice, can he? But then he thinks, maybe she noticed too, once she got here, and turned around to look for him as well. Maybe they missed each other in the throng of people, like two characters in those horribly cheesy rom-coms his mum likes to watch. But, unfortunately, this isn’t a movie and when he gets back to where Dan is still waiting, she isn’t there either. When Dan sees how terribly lost he looks, he offers to help Andy search and together they sweep as much of Koelnmesse as they possibly can, even as they both know it’s a hopeless endeavour. He doesn’t catch sight of her again.
It’s about half a year later that he meets Jane - officially meets Jane - because Dan can’t make the show that week and someone suggests she stand in and Andy says yes without thinking too much about it. And he continues not to think too much about it right until she walks in and he sees her for the first time, only to realise it might not actually be the first time at all. And for a second he’s willing to believe that life can be just like his mum's movies, that even though he missed his chance the first time, fate brought them back together and now everything is going to work out alright. Except then she introduces herself, with a professionally polite smile and not a sliver of recognition in her warm brown eyes and his vision of a Hollywood-worthy reunion fades as quick as it came. Because while she does look a lot like he remembers the woman at GamesCom, he did only see her for about a minute, so he might be wrong - and also they’re about to film a video together, for his job that he’d like to keep, so he’d rather not risk the kind of social blunder that is falsely assuming somebody is your soulmate immediately before that. So he keeps quiet and Jane is charming and professional and lovely and the shoot goes great, so next time Dan is otherwise occupied he calls her up again and then again and somewhere in between they come up with the first tentative ideas for Outsidexbox and then - Well, then it’s kind of too late to bring up the whole soulmate thing without the risk of turning a thus very smooth and effective business relationship incredibly messy. So he doesn’t. They bring Mike on board and together they start the channel and for the longest time, that is that.
The topic is brought up exactly once, between the three of them, because Mike’s mark is right there on his left wrist - which seems oddly fitting for him, his heart on his sleeve and all - and it’s so simple, just two words - ‘Oh, thanks!’ - and one day Jane wonders out loud how he and his fiancé ever figured it out, seeing how often he must have heard just that from so many people. “With time and some luck,” Mike shrugs, like it should be obvious, and maybe to him it is, “I mean, sure, we noticed the words matched, but like you said, they’re pretty basic-” “I didn’t-” Jane wants to interrupt, but Mike just waves her off with a grin. “I know, I know, but you’d be right if you did. Neither her nor mine are super specific and we’ve both met people who matched before, but the thing is - it’s not just the words, you know? It’s - she’s the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I don’t need a mark to tell me that. Sure, it can help point you in the right direction, but it’s still up to you where you go from there, and I think at some point you just - know.” He shrugs again, with a sheepish little grin and Andy looks to Jane, only to find her already watching him and for a second he thinks- But then she sighs, a little wistful, and says, “I mean, I wouldn’t know.” And Mike pats her shoulder and tells her it will happen, sooner or later while Andy feels his heart break, just a little.
See, part of him is utterly convinced that it’s Jane. It has to be Jane. No one else lights his world up the way she does. No one’s smile feels as rewarding as hers, no one’s criticism as cutting. No one gets under his skin like her, so easily she might as well live there and he can’t say he’d mind it one bit. And then, sometimes, he’ll catch her watching him with a look on her face that makes his heart flip and for a second he’ll be just as certain that she feels it, too. But then she’ll avert her eyes, as soon as she notices she’s been caught, and all his doubts will come rushing back at once - because what if that’s all this is? Infatuation and attraction - he won’t say ‘just’, because those aren’t light things, and yet nothing against the thought that any day she could walk in and tell him she’d finally found her match, her real match, in someone that isn’t him. How from then on it would be so much easier to pretend this magnetism between them never existed if they never acknowledged it in the first place. It’s going to ruin him either way, he might as well save himself the agony of knowing exactly what he is losing.
They continue to exist in this limbo for years, until one day he catapults them out of it in the dumbest possible way. They’re both working on the next episode of Show of the Week, although on different tasks - he’s trying to capture some Hitman footage they thought they already had, while she scrutinizes the comments for suitable picks for the Comment Corner. Something they both know could be done literally anywhere and yet she prefers to do it here, sitting next to him on their shitty Let’s Play ikea couch, with her thigh pressed to his. It’s a distraction - the solution to which can only be to focus harder on his goal, never to ask her to move. “Lots of people asking for behind the scenes stuff lately,” She murmurs, probably well aware that while he can’t pay her full attention, she still has more of it than she should, “Might have to figure out a way to make that entertaining.” He gives a vaguely attentive grunt, just so keeping out of sight of a noticer, before replying, “Maybe let Luke and Ellen do that.” Their shoots tend to dissolve into giggles sooner or later, shouldn’t be too hard to scrape something entertaining off the cutting room floor. “Good idea,” She agrees and for a moment they continue in easy silence, her reading, him assassining onward. Until she says, “Also lots of people wanting to know how we all met, especially Luke and Ellen. Might work better to answer that in a live stream, though.” “Not much of a story there,” He responds distractedly, waiting for the perfect opening in the guard rotation to make his next move, feeling her hair brush his shoulder at her answering shrug. “Still, the viewers want to know,” And what the viewers wanted, the viewers would get - within reason. “Man, I can’t even remember how I met Mike, feels like forever ago.” “Uh - Inside Xbox, I’m pretty sure,” He mutters, finally seeing a chance to sneak past unnoticed and immediately seizing it. This game just wasn’t meant to be played with a hard time limit, it’s causing him unnecessary amounts of difficulty. And stress. “Like us then, makes sense,” She says, or something similar, he isn’t really listening, trying to guide 47 towards the perfect kill. And obviously he isn’t really thinking, either, because he corrects. “Nah, we met at GamesCom, remember?” Because that’s the reality he allows himself to live in, when he isn’t paying attention. And her quiet ‘Huh?’ should really be the only cue he needs to snap out of that and recall that she doesn’t remember, might not even be able to, because despite how desperately he wants it to be, he still has no actual proof that i was her, back then. But again, distracted, not thinking, dumb. “In 2010? You asked me how to get to a panel and I -” - would really like for the target to isolate himself now. Come on, buddy, you’re a big boy, you don’t need a fucking entourage to escort you to the bathroom! Except then he feels Jane shift away and the loss of her warmth is the shock to his system he needs to realise his own words and oh shit. “What did you say, Andy?” And when he looks over, the game and the footage and everything else immediately lose all importance as he is faced with her wide, dark eyes, stormy in a way he’s never seen them before, and he knows she isn’t asking about what he said just then, she’s asking about -
Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
“Uhm,” He says, not stalling for time so much as honestly unable to remember, because his words were never the important ones - right until now, when it feels like his whole life hinges on them. “Something about heading past the Konami stage to see it?” Jane freezes for a second and then pretty much jumps up, off the couch, but before he can make up his mind on whether that’s a bad or a worse thing she starts rucking up her shirt, exposing the soft line of her stomach, the bow of her ribcage, a glimpse of the underside of her bra - and okay, that’s happening, that’s a lot of skin he isn’t used to seeing, what is going on? “This,” She says, pointing at the spot on the right side of her torso, just below her ribs, ”You said this?” What’s he supposed to be focusing on? Oh, words! There are words there - her mark -
‘Sure, you see the Konami stage?’
Those words. His words. His words on Jane’s skin. Her mark, the words he said to her, the first word he ever said to her, right there, along her ribcage. His brain still hasn’t really caught up with what is going on, but his fingers have a mind of their own, reaching out to trace the smooth black lines of his words on her skin and the gasp it draws out of her when they make contact goes right through him. But then she steps back, letting her shirt fall back down and he wants to protest the loss, protest the distance, only to be rendered mute by the storm still in her eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything?” She asks and her voice is so - so at odds with the overflow of emotion swirling in those lovely, dark eyes and he wishes he had a better answer than ‘Because I didn’t know how to ask, because I couldn’t risk losing you, because I was afraid to find out’. “Do you have any idea, what that felt like, seeing you every day, wondering how it could possibly be anyone else, when at the same time it had to be, because you didn’t - I thought you didn’t -” She runs a hand through her hair, looking wild and forlorn and he wants to touch her so badly he could scream, wants to comfort her, wants make all better, but he can’t get his thoughts ordered enough to figure out how. Somehow he was right and Jane is his soulmate and he is hers - hers, in every way he can be - and yet he’s still fucking this up. “I - I mean, I kind of do?” Is what eventually comes out of his mouth and while that’s entirely true - he knows exactly what it feels like, seeing her every day - it’s also the entirely wrong thing to say, going by the way she furrows her brows, letting out small growl of frustration. Or maybe it isn't, because the next thing she does to vent that very frustration is to climb right into his lap and kiss him with a fervour he would never have dared to dream of and that’s - That’s great, that’s brilliant, that’s all he ever wanted, her hands in his hair and her mouth hot against his, and it’s so, so much better than he could have ever imagined because it’s Jane and she’s here and she’s his. One of his hands slips back under her shirt, trailing up to trace the words again and she moans at the contact, pushing into his touch. There is, in that moment, not a single doubt in his mind that they’re going to fuck, right there on the shitty ikea couch, HR violations be damned. There should be an exemption clause for finally figuring out who your soulmate is anyway, and he can’t possibly be expected to keep his hands off her now that he knows she doesn’t want him to. Which is, of course, when Mike walks in, with his usual impeccable timing and a call of, “Hey guys, are you- Woah! Geez, you guys, seriously?!” Making the situation seem a little more explicit than it currently is - Jane’ shirt it till mostly on, for one - and also causing her to pull back from him, just enough to hide her face against his shoulder instead, which is also about as far as Andy is willing to let her go right now, before loudly stating, “Mike, fuck off.” He doesn’t, obviously. “Look, it’s not that I’m not happy you finally got there, it’s just we’re going to have to keep using that couch, so-” “Mike!” “Yeah?” “Fuck. Off.” And this time he gets it, although not without a last, cheerful, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” And then he’s gone and they’re alone again and Andy realises he dropped the controller at some point, leaving Agent 47 spinning in an endless circle on the screen across from him, to the ongoing confusion of several NPC’s. It’s a weirdly apt metaphor for what his own thoughts are doing, while Jane’s breaths steadily wash over his collarbone. Jane is his soulmate. Holy shit. He hears her sigh, before she carefully extracts herself from his hold, getting back to her feet. ”Come on,” She says, and when he can only look at her in askance, “Mike has a point - about the couch. And you're going to have to make up for the fact that you got me Konami branded for the rest of my life. So you’re taking me home. Now.” And, well, who is he to argue with his soulmate?
II The thing about having a soulmate is that it’s all very - neat. She learns his name when she’s about fifteen and then meets him a little less than five years later, during her third semester at Uni, introduced by a mutual friend who knew before they did, because why hide the name of the very person you’re meant to try and find? He’s sweet and funny and handsome, taller than her, with dark hair and kind eyes and she likes him immediately, of course she does, fate picked him just for her, after all. Two years later their married, living together in an apartment in West London, without the white picket fence as of yet, but everyone is sure she’ll change her mind about having children when she’s a little older and it’s all very nice and lovely and easy to navigate. He loves her and she loves him and it’s picture book perfect. And then she meets Andy. By accident, at first, not quite recognising him despite the fact that they run in the same circle, technically, because she knows off him more than she knows him - yet. And then again, with intent, officially, to do a Video for his show together. And then another and another and another until one day he calls her up and tells her about this idea he has, for a new channel and how he’d like her to be part of that and what does she think, could she see that happening? And she says yes, of course, obviously. The thing about Andy, when it comes to her, is that he only ever has to ask. It’s there from the first time their eyes meet, in a busy convention center, and every time after that, whenever they’re in close enough proximity - this charge between them, this electric current underlying their every interaction. She knows Ampère's law, knows how magnetic fields come to be, knows all that and where it leads to. And she also knows that outside the controlled environment of a lab there’s always more than one force at play, how foolish it is to use a term like inevitability when talking about human nature. It still feels pretty damn inevitable. And yet, somehow, they move around it for years without blunder, not a single misstep, despite how the slightest brush of his fingers is enough to raise the hair on her neck, how some of the looks he sends her carry so much heat she feels she should catch fire, then and there, isn't fully certain how she hasn't yet. No one else seems to notice - but then, why would they? She has her soulmate and he has his and why would either of them look for anything else? How could they? And then one day they’re at a publisher event in L.A., just the two of them, Mike left behind to suffer the summer rains of home, and when they step out of the cab at the end of the day, heat still rolling off the pavement despite the sun setting a while ago, she knows this is it. There’s no discussion, no ‘let’s lay down some ground rules’, not even the convenient deniability provided by one too many drinks - in fact, they’re both perfectly sober - and yet when the elevator stops at their floor she knows he’ll move straight past his room and come along to hers and so isn’t the slightest bit surprised when that's what he does. And as soon as the door shuts behind them it’s like a switch has been flipped, four years of waiting slamming into her all at once, too long, too much, and now she can’t anymore, not a second longer. He’s right there with her, pressing her against the door, trying to strip her shirt off without taking his mouth of her skin, distracting her as she struggles to undo his belt, until, by some miracle, they manage to struggle enough off their clothing off that he can fuck her, right there, right against the door, despite the bed being less than two feet away. Like she said, they see eye to eye on many things, and this is just one more for the list. And if it was just sex, just fucking, purely physical, then that might still be fine, might be something that could be ignored or politely overlooked or, if absolutely necessary, even wrangled into some kind of agreement. But in the morning he wakes her with a kiss to her shoulder and another one below her jaw as his fingers trace patterns along the just of her hip, and when she rolls over and back on top of him it’s with an entirely different desperation than the frantic need of last night. And she can still call it fucking, can call it whatever she wants in the safety of her own mind, but that doesn’t change the fact that it isn’t, that even calling it sex, with all the beautiful ambiguity of the word, provides but fragile cover for everything that’s lurking right underneath. Once it’s started, it doesn’t stop. The seal’s been broken and good intentions alone can’t put it back in place, not when they barely kept it on to begin with. She knows what it's like now, to touch him, to have him, to feel him fill all her senses. Knows what he sounds like, what he looks like coming undone with her name on his tongue, and that this isn't something that can be fixed or erased. Tht this isn't something they can ever come back from and she can't bring herself to want it to be. Despite that it’s almost funny how little actually changes, he’s still her best friend, before anything else - before anyone else, too - he still pisses her off effortlessly and then makes her laugh until she forgives him, she still teases him about his cowboy obsession and then listens to him gush about the new Red Dead for an hour straight, anyway. They don't hold hands in public or slack dirty pictures during work hours and if they're a little too comfortable in each others space sometimes then that's just proof of their solid friendship and they've always been like that, anyway. They still do movie nights twice a month, just them, no one else allowed. Only that now, more often than not, the movie plays ignored in the background while she rides him on his couch and then helps him clean up after, in case his girlfriend decides to drop by, before going home to greet her husband with a kiss on the cheek, like she wasn’t begging for another man’s cock mere hours ago. And when she tells him she’ll head to bed early because she’s tired he doesn’t question it, just like Andy’s girlfriend doesn’t question why he hasn’t yet asked her to marry him, because someone’s name on your wrist is a pretty solid thing so why would anyone question that? It’s only on the rare occasions where they get a whole night together, rather than a few stolen hours between the rest of their lives, when Andy is deep asleep beside and yet still holding onto her like he can’t fathom ever having to let her go, that Jane looks at the wrist that doesn’t bear his name, and wonder if fate has it all wrong.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
When she opens the door, he’s just there, right in front of her. Which is - fortunate, she supposes. For her at least, saves her the trouble of having to find him. Not that it would have caused her a lot of trouble. The village is small after all and he is so very salient. Salivatingly so. … Eh, she’ll have to workshop that one a bit. “Jane,” He says, interrupting her thoughts and having the gall to sound surprised while he does it, like he couldn’t possibly have imagined ever meeting her here, in her own house. Hovel. Whatever. He probably intends to add something, not the monosyllabic type, that one, except then he notices what she’s wearing, or rather, isn’t wearing - look, the dress would just get ruined, why bother? - and it shuts him up good. Also redirects his eyes right back to her face, but let’s just see how long he can keep that up. “Andy,” She drawls, because someone needs to keep this conversation going and her money isn’t on him right now, “What are you doing here?” Other than desperately trying to maintain eye contact with her. She can smell chalk dust and - wolfsbane? Yes, there’s a small bundle of it right by her doorstep, some silver thistle, too. And a half finished protection spell drawn onto the wood. Well, isn’t he just precious. “Nothing!” He finally manages to bark out, trying to drop the piece of chalk as inconspicuously as possible. She watches it bounce once before coming to rest in the dirt, a bright white speck on the full-moon-lit path. “I mean - taking a walk? To make sure you - err, everyone is safe?” “But Andy,” She purrs, observing the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows, “It’s so dangerous to be out at night. Alone.” “Uh - yeah,” He replies weakly, and wow, okay, he’s not handling this one super well, is he? “I mean, yes. Yes it is. So I should-” “Come inside, where it’s safe.” She finishes for him and then hauls him through the door before he can get any funny ideas. Or unfunny ideas, like leaving. “Wha-? No wai- whoa, you’re strong!” He exclaims and she can feel exactly when he gets sidetracked in looking up from her hand on his wrist and back to her head by the way his pulse speeds up, right under her palm, rabbit-heart rapid. The thought alone is making her mouth water. “Am I?” She asks, because she’s pretty sure he’s beyond the point in the conversation where he’s still listening to her actual words. Really, it would be kind of insulting if he weren’t, by now. “Uh-huh,” He says dazedly and while her ego might not need the stroking, it’s certainly still appreciated. Although then, of course, he snaps his eyes back to her face, because he’s such a gentleman. And at the worst of times, too. “I mean, I - I should -” “Stay the night?” She offers, taking a step closer so he’ll stay nice and still, caught between the door and her body. “To make me feel safe?” And then another step, so she can run her nose against his neck, because he smells so - well, pleasant might be a bit of a strong word, but she can’t deny she likes it. And oh, look, there’s certainly nothing gentlemanly about the way he reacted to that. Good. The moon has been pulling at her skin for a while now, but she thinks she can keep it together just a while longer, especially if he decides to put his hands somewhere useful sometime soon. “Jane,” He groans, because dialogue wise they might as well end where they started, and then he doesn’t just put his hands somewhere useful but his mouth as well, the little over-achiever. God, she’s going to eat him alive. + Now with Bonus Andy When she opens the door, he’s just there, right in the middle of her home, waiting for her. Which is - good, she supposes. Better than him being outside on his own, anyway because there’s probably a werewolf running about and it’d be a shame if he were to get his face torn off. Or otherwise brutally dismembered. Or eaten. Or all of the above. “Jane,” He says, interrupting her thought and sounding a lot like he’s been expecting her, which makes sense, this being her house and all. And then, because he’s never one to keep quiet when it can be helped, not the monosyllabic type that one - he’s lucky he has such a nice voice, really - he adds, “I’ve been waiting for you.” Which, yeah. She figured as much. “Andy,” She drawls, because she plain likes the sound of it and also if she waits for him to monologue his way to the point they’ll still be here next week. “What are you doing here?” Other than looking at her like he wants to eat her alive, his already bright blue eyes seeming even more so this evening, nearly glowing in the dim light of her home and grinning in a way that’s downright - ah. Well. Shit. “Now, Andy -” She says, lifting her hands placatingly, slowly backing away as he takes a step towards her. “Let’s not do anything rash.” “Oh, don’t worry Jane, it’s nothing rash,” He assures her, taking another step closer, almost upon her now, her back against the door. “In fact I’ve been thinking about this for a good long while.” And then he whips his shirt off, which is unfair for a multitude of reasons, although the one she’s going to try and focus on is that it’s her move and he doesn’t get to beat her at her own game, no matter how good he looks while doing it. She’ll tell him so, too. “Uh,” Is what actually comes out of her mouth when she opens it, right before he takes that final step to push her flush against the door, trapping her between that and a not quite proverbial hard place and - wow, okay, this is not going super well for her, is it? “About you,” He purrs, right into her ear, his breath washing hotly over her skin and - “about how beautiful you are,” - runs his nose down her neck, breathing her in and - “how enticing you smell,” presses an open mouthed kiss above her clavicle, making her whimper, before “how wonderful you’ll taste,” biting down, gently, just to give both of them a taste, “how sweetly you’ll scream for me.” Oh fuck. (No, really, if he could get to it, please.) “Andy,” She gasps and he has the gall to chuckle at that, right against her skin, the bastard, just wait until she gets her head back on straight and then - “Yes, Jane?” “Just eat me already.” So he does. (And by god, does he.)
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
I. It’s the obvious solution, is all. Sometimes, when she’s out, she gets hit on - they all do, including Mike, with his wedding ring so brightly visible she doesn’t know how anyone could miss it even if they were trying to. But that’s the inherent risk of going out, she supposes - there’s other people and some of them want to interact with you. And sometimes that interaction includes chatting you up. And she doesn’t mind, not really, not most of the time, when a ‘thanks but no thanks’ is all it takes. But sometimes it doesn’t, sometimes certain people insist on outstaying their welcome and that’s when it helps to have some back up. That’s when Andy comes in. It doesn’t need to be him, she knows, they all know, a pointed look from Luke or a snapped ‘Oy, mate!’ from Ellen can do the trick just the same, any reminder that there’s someone else there, watching, having her back. It’s just that - well, like she said, it’s the obvious solution. Because Andy doesn’t need to do anything, doesn’t need to shout or gesture or threaten to hit someone, only needs to exist vaguely in her space - perhaps a little closer than perfect strangers might, but then that’s not what they are - to make any unwanted suitor bugger off. To keep them from approaching in the first place, even. Although, to be fair, he’s never just stood there doing nothing, hovering quietly in her space like some creep. They talk, usually, obviously, which also usually means that he’s making her laugh and she knows how that looks to outsiders. And those times they end up in the same space but different conversations, he’ll just keep some point of contact with her, nothing big or possessive, merely present - like a hand against the small of her back, maybe. Nothing that couldn’t be read as platonic, but won’t be, most of the time. Again, she knows how they look, they both do, that’s the point. It’s rarely necessary in the other direction - by which she means, it’s never happened before; perhaps women are better about taking a hint, or less likely to challenge a ‘No’, either way he’s never needed her to swoop in and return the favour. Today is no different, as far as she can tell - the pretty redhead that caught him on his way back from the bar is flirting hard and while he does nothing to return or encourage her advances - that much she can tell from here - he also doesn’t look uncomfortable or in a hurry to get away, certainly isn’t seeking her eyes across the crowded room, pleading for a rescue. He’s having a pleasant enough conversation and she could leave him to it. Should leave him to it. Should focus on the chat Johnny and Ellen are having right beside her instead, try and contribute to that. But she feels a sudden prickly craving to have him near, to have at least some of his attention fixed on her, that she doesn’t care to examine too closely. So she doesn’t, simply gets up and gives Johnny a reassuring smile when they raise a brow in question, before sauntering over to Andy and his new acquaintance. She doesn’t slot herself into the ongoing conversation, of course not, that would be rude. She just comes to a stop next to him and he notices at once - didn’t even have to bump his shoulder or call his name, nothing at all - and then pauses in the middle of his sentence to cast a quick look around and then back to her, the question clear in his eyes as he can’t spot anyone bothering her in plain sight - obviously, because there isn’t anyone, not today. So she smiles, shaking her head ever so slightly, and he doesn’t press, simply gives her an equally short nod and picks his sentence up right where he left it. His conversational partner doesn’t seem thrilled at this turn of events, not that Jane expected her to be, but she efficiently papers over that with her enthusiastic interest for the story he’s telling her. Jane’s not really listening - doesn’t need to hear about his last trip to Ontario when she’s been there with him - just idly watching the room, observing the other people milling about. She has what she wanted, anyway, that gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach quieted now that he’s right next to her. And then she feels his hand settle against the small of her back. It’s probably reflex at this point, not something he does consciously and so she doesn’t react, doesn’t turn her head to smile at him again or see how the other woman is taking this development. She does lean into him, just a little, because they might be here for a while and there isn’t anything else for her to lean against. And if that causes him to readjust his hand until it’s resting mostly on the curve of her hip then, well, she doesn’t mind. From then on it doesn’t take much longer until the redhead excuses herself and disappears and Jane feels a little bad about that, she didn’t mean to break up their whole conversation - again, he seemed happy enough to entertain the woman without returning her flirtation. And if that hadn’t been the case, if he had shown genuine interest - she likes to think she would have managed to let him be, to not steal glances in his direction every five minutes, to keep her attention on Johnny and Ellen instead. Perhaps it’s a good thing she doesn’t have to find out. At least he doesn’t seem to mind this turn of events - on the contrary, he seems content to simply remain as they are, standing here with his arm around her as she pretends to people watch. It’s only when she looks back to him and meets his eyes that he nods to the table where their friends are still sitting - Luke with them now, too - in another unspoken question and when she doesn’t decline, leads her back over. Still with his hand on her hip, but then removing it now would probably be the weirder thing to do, wouldn’t it? He doesn’t let go until they’re at the table, both taking their seats, across from Johnny and Ellen, and even then it’s done with reluctance. She’d love to give him an excuse to keep touching her, if only she could think of one. Across the table, Ellen catches her gaze with a look that tells her she's not fooling anyone. But then, she wasn't trying to, was she? II. He arrives five minutes early and promptly proceeds to waste all of them by hovering at the door, trying to find the courage to ring the bell. Too late to back out now, he reminds himself, you made a commitment, she’s expecting you to show up, letting her down wouldn’t just be cowardly, it would be rude. What was he so nervous about, anyway? It’s just dinner with a beautiful woman, nothing he’s never done before. It’s not even a real date. “You’re going to get your kidney stolen,” Mike had said, when he’d talked to him about it, in his usual sensitive way. “By some serial killer organ harvester operating via reddit. And, also as per usual, that had put him right on the defensive. “No I’m not! She’s - I’ve talked to her! We had a video call. She’s not a serial killer, she's -” Beautiful, not that that’s important, it’s just true, and also friendly and charismatic, if a bit stressed at the time, but then that was probably due to the situation as a whole. “- a real person and she seems nice!” “Pretty ladies can be murderous organ dealers, too, Andy,” Mike had gone on, unperturbed, “Don’t be sexist.” He sighs, pushing the memory aside and then the button next to the name ‘Douglas', telling himself it’s going to be fine. When he’d come across her post in the Farnborough subreddit - Looking for someone to bring along to a company party at the Yedon - he’d clicked on it mostly out of curiosity, with no intent to actually offer his help. She’s in R&D at Mediso, it read, relatively new to the company if not the field and currently the only woman on her team, there had been a boyfriend in the beginning, with a chaotic work schedule, a convenient excuse to avoid less official company events and the unwanted advances of a coworker and so she’d neglected to mention when they eventually split. Except now he’s been invited along to an anniversary celebration, to officially meet her colleagues, so she either needs to own up to the lie or find someone willing to play the part in exchange for a nice dinner at the Yedon, where the whole thing would be happening. Fortunately, she’d never gone into detail when talking about her boyfriend, even when he still existed, so the only real requirements were male, around her age and not a complete asshole, interested parties please comment below. And well, Andy is male, around her age and reasonably sure that he isn’t a complete asshole, shut up Mike, and also he’s heard the sushi at the Yedon is supposed to be world class. He’s been meaning to go, it’s just not really in his price range right now - being able to live off his writing is one thing, being able to live lavishly quite another. So he’d typed out a quick comment, taking a chance without expecting anything to come of it, far from the only one willing to play the part. And yet here he is now. The buzzer sounds, telling him it’s really too late to back out now, so he resists the urge to mess with his tie or his hair and pushes past the door, heading for the stairs. There are two apartments on the third floor, but only one door is left ajar, and so he knocks more for politeness sake, calling out a ‘Hello?’ as he hovers on the step. Beyond it lies a short hallway, with a full coat rack above a clutter of shoes, and through the doorway at the end he can spot the kitchen. It looks warm and homey and there’s a sweet, floral scent in the air - nicer than his place, he thinks. If she does turn out to be a serial killer after all, at least she’s one with taste. “Andy?” Comes a voice from inside, the same one he’d heard over the phone just yesterday. “You’re - oh, right on time, actually.” And then she steps into the hall, fiddling with an earring as she shoots him an apologetic smile. “Hi, sorry, seems I’m a bit behind schedule.” “Not a problem,” He says, hoping his answering smile doesn’t look as nervous as he feels. At least playing the part of the smitten boyfriend won’t be an issue. He already knew she’s beautiful, could see it even through the mediocre quality of a video call, with a sweet round face, warm eyes and the kind of smile men would go to war for. But now, like this, real and right in front of him, her hair and make-up done and dressed with the intention to look good - and the knowledge that she does - she’s something else entirely. The kind of woman who couldn’t just start a war, but end it, bring whole empires to their knees. He shoves his poetic waxing aside as she gestures for him to step in fully while she finishes getting ready, pulling the door shut behind himself. “Thank you again for doing this, by the way, I know it’s really short notice. My friend Luke offered to play the part, but then it turned out one of my colleagues knows his wife.” “Also not a problem,” He says lamely, although it’s somehow enough to make her smile, before adding. “And it’s my pleasure, anyway, I’ve been meaning to check out the Yedon, the food’s supposed to be excellent.” Just to say something, just so he won’t be silently hovering in her hallway, like he’s a serial killer. He’s never been particularly good at this part, the fumbling small talk that would hopefully turn into an actual conversation at some point and evidently he hasn’t gotten magically better since his last first date. Which was a while ago - work gets in the way and something about the fact that most of his friends are married by now, some already with children, makes him feel oddly like he’s missed that train already. Knowing that this isn’t a real first date doesn’t help, unfortunately. Still, the look she shoots him is amused, like she finds him entertaining rather than awkward. “Let’s hope the company doesn’t ruin your enjoyment of it, then.” “Surely your colleagues aren’t that bad,” He says, because she can’t possibly be talking about herself. “Oh no, they’re not bad at all, they’re just - ” She hurries to say, before pausing to consider her next words. “Most of them are older men who have worked in the same, very specific field for going on thirty years, you know? Expect to hear a lot of heated opinions on Purcell and Bloch, is all I’m saying.” “The composer?” He asks, before he can think better of it. “No, the guy who discovered NMR.” She tells him and yeah, he could have known that - or, well, he couldn’t because he’s never heard of the guy, but then he should have guessed, because he knows what she does for a living and - “There’s a composer?” “Yeah, he wrote an opera for MacBeth,” He says, feeling a little sheepish and like he’s already mucking this up, even as she makes no indication that she shares that sentiment. “Huh, I didn’t even know there was an opera for that. Maybe throw that in later, confuse the guys into shutting up for a minute.” One final glance in the hallway mirror and then she turns to him. “Well, that’s me ready.” She looks radiant and if this were a proper first date he wouldn’t hesitate to tell her so - but as is, he isn’t entirely sure of the correct protocol. “You look lovely,” Is what he settles on and the small smile she shoots him at that tells him it was the right choice, slightly soothing his nerves.
That lasts right until they arrive at the Yedon - and it’s already starting to feel a little ridiculous, being this nervous when all that’s expected of him is to make polite small talk with people he’ll likely never see again and and present himself as decent enough of a human being that she’d keep him around for a year and some change - which, again, he’s not an assshole so that’s not a problem. Plus, these are all her coworkers, so even if he somehow messes up, it’ll still be mostly her problem. He has no skin in this game. Alright, so that’s a bit of a lie. Despite having spent less than an hour in her company so far, he can already tell that Jane isn’t just charismatic and unfairly pretty, but also whip-smart and quick witted and plain interesting to chat to; she shares his interest in video games and gothic novel, claiming outright jealousy when he mentions having written his masters thesis on Anne Rice, and doesn’t rib him too hard when he admits that Nuclear Physics reads a lot like black magic to him. It feels almost criminal, having to not only share her attention now but also having to pretend he already knows all about her when in truth he’d like nothing better than to learn all those things in earnest. He’s completely smitten - and thus, mildly terrified of disappointing her. Fortunately, things continue to go well - the Farnborough office is comparatively small, only consisting of about thirty people, four of which are part of her team, so she introduces him as they approach and with the clear implication that she’s only putting faces to names he’s already familiar with and he smiles and nods along and lets Eve And Laurie From Accounting gush about what a beautiful couple they make. “Well, now I can see why you’ve been hiding him from us,” The latter winks and he gets the feeling that Jane’s mysterious boyfriend has been a staple of office gossip for a while. Before he can think better of it - and isn’t that becoming a theme this evening - he places his hand on the small of her back in a wordless show of support. But she leans into his touch rather than moving away, shooting him a grateful little smile - which makes sense, because she’s supposed to be his girlfriend and to have been for a while and it would be really weird to be nervous about touching her, wouldn’t it? So if his heartbeat could get the message, please. “I wasn’t hiding him,” Jane lies, “He’s just been very busy.” “Right, Jane mentioned your work hours are quite unpredictable,” Charlie From Her Team adds with the subtle hesitance of someone desperately trying to recall something he knows he should know. Jane was right, her team members aren’t bad, they simply appear to have one gear, permanently stuck on the topics they deem important. “I’m sorry, what is it you do again?” “I used to write for the Chronicle - lots of deadlines and last minute edits,” The complete truth, for once, and while he is grateful for the experience, he’s also glad to see this part of his career over. “But now I work freelance, so I get to pick my own hours.” “Ah,” Says Charlie, sounding not so much unimpressed as effectively baffled. “And that pays?” “Charlie!” Comes the immediate reproach from Eve, although Andy can’t feel too insulted, too distracted by thy way Jane attempts to hide her grin, turning further towards him and ducking her head so he’s the only one to catch it. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply -” The older man attempts to course correct, genuinely upset at his own blunder. “I mean, I’m sure Jane and you manage just fine!” There’s another “Charlie!” and while the look she gives him is apologetic, Jane does have to press a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter this time. He still isn’t as insulted as he probably should be at the implication that - what, he depends on his girlfriend to keep him afloat while he chases dreams? That he’s just dallying around while she revolutionizes PET scanning to support his lifestyle? Something like that, anyway. “I am so sorry,” Jane says as soon as Eve and Laurie have wrangled their colleague away with a quick excuse. “I promise, he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just from a milieu where it’s hard science or nothing. Not that that excuses-” “It’s fine,” He interrupts her gently,” My grandpa used to be the same.” “How’d you deal with that?” She asks, with honest curiosity and he idly notes that she hasn’t stepped away yet, hasn’t put any distance between them although none of her coworkers are paying them much attention right now. “Fled to Chicago for two semesters,” He admits and she looks like she has a dozen follow-up questions she can’t ask because she should already know the answers and someone might overhear. In fact, she keeps looking at him like he’s the most interesting guy she’s ever met - which can’t be right, even if she has no reason to fake it and its doing wonders for his self confidence. During their first phone conversation she told him it would be just fine if they didn’t quite sell the bit, would make it easier to explain their inevitable break-up between tonight and whenever else she’s expected to bring him along, because, obviously, this is a one time deal, if everyone could already see that they weren’t quite the happy couple perfectly in love. He doesn’t think they’re doing great at that part, but he can’t say he minds either - which is bad, probably. Because of the whole one time deal thing. “You’re coworkers think you have a trophy husband,” He says, to distract himself from those thoughts. “If anything, I have a trophy boyfriend,” She corrects blithely, “You’ll have to work a little harder to get bumped to husband .” “Why do I have to work? I’m the trophy!” He argues and while she does chuckle at that, she also tilts her head in contemplation. “That’s - a fair point, actually? I guess I’ll have to work harder then.” So much for that distraction.
The food ends up being exactly as good as he’d hoped for and the company does nothing to spoil it. Eventually Charlie, alongside Marvin, Also From Her Team, wrap him up in a conversation on Morrrissey’s solo career and a potential The Smiths reunion - apparently one of Charlie’s rare artistic interests and also an attempt at an apology Andy is happy enough to accept. At some point during the conversation he feels Jane’s hand first slip over and then into his. When he turns to look at her it’s to find her avoiding both his eyes and those of Eve and Laurie, both of whom appear to be elated at something he must have missed but is making Jane blush bright red. And here he thought she couldn’t get any prettier. “You okay?” He inquires softly, with a light squeeze to her hand, and she does meet his eyes then, if only for a moment, murmuring an equally soft, “I’m fine.” She doesn’t let go of his hand, however, and he has to fight down the sudden urge to - kiss her temple, maybe. Offer some other form of comfort. It would be way too much, entirely inappropriate - not for her boyfriend of course, but for who he actually is, just some guy she met for the first time today, and he shouldn’t have to keep reminding himself of that. The problem is that, even knowing that it’s not real and that it would be a fairly weird setting for a first date if it were, this is kind of the best date he’s had in - a long time. He’s tempted to say ever, and he has no delusion about the fact that this has everything to do with the person he’s pretending to date being Jane. Which is probably still bad. He’s absolutely convinced that if Jane wanted to have a boyfriend - a real, actual, non-pretend boyfriend - then she would have a boyfriend. She could have her pick, most likely, and while his pride is exulting at the knowledge she picked him, he’s also painfully aware that she only picked him for this and only because she had to. This is still a one time deal and once he drops her off back at home she’ll probably thank him one last time and then promptly forget he ever existed. Even if she does seem to genuinely enjoy talking to him and laughs at all his terrible jokes. By the time they leave, all her coworkers sufficiently charmed, he’s socially exhausted and yet he gets out of the Uber with her at her address, scrabbling for any additional second in her company he can get. She doesn’t say anything when he walks her to the door, and then up to her apartment and he can’t quite bring himself to squash the sliver of hope that maybe she’s just as unwilling to see their time together end. That, maybe, she wouldn’t even mind seeing him again, sometime. And then her door is unlocked and she’s standing on the sill, looking at him like she can’t work up the courage to ask him inside but can’t bring herself to tell him goodbye either. If this was a proper date, this would be the moment to lean in and kiss her. But it isn’t, so he doesn’t. “Andy, I -” She begins, but then seems to lose her nerve, pausing with a sigh. “I don’t know how to thank you. This went - so much better than I could have imagined it going, honestly.” “Anytime,” He say and means it. “Yeah?” There is a lilt to her voice, a hopefulness that makes his heart flip. “Yeah. I mean -” He shrugs, a little awkward, the nerves that gradually left him over the course of the evening back in full force. “You have my number.” “I do,” She says, like she forgot that part and something about the reminder lights her up. “I - I’ll call you?” “I’d love that,” He says with a smile she returns in kind and although she does then, eventually, bid him good night it doesn’t seem all that terrible now that he knows it’s temporary, that she does want to see him again. He opts to take the bus rather than call another Uber and hears his phone bus just as he reaches the stop. There’s a message from Mike, sent an hour ago - still alive, buddy? - that can wait a while longer and one from Jane, sent now , that definitely can’t.
I check out that guy you mentioned, the composer who did MacBeth?
I know that’s the opera, not the play, but apparently there are still
tickets for some of the shows at the globe and I’ve never actually seen that.
So I was wondering if maybe you’d like to come see that with me?
Next Saturday, maybe?
That sounds perfect, I would love nothing more.
Saturday works for me :)
Great! then it’s a date :)