mouth is still noiselessly open. I try to force out a sound, a word. Nothing comes. I am trapped in that moment. The word locked behind the thunder of my pulse.
Felicity looks away.
Oh God…
“Sure,” I croak, forcing it out. And I want this. I want this, damnit. “Yes,” I repeat, going for something more forceful, and failing to achieve it.
Felicity looks at me, eyes narrow, suspicious. I barf up the smile again.
And then she smiles too.
“Excellent!” She claps her hands. Two of the business men look up from their newspapers, wearing vaguely irritated expressions. Felicity leans forward and kisses me on my lips.
I close my eyes, kiss her back. I wish it was a romantic moment, but mostly I’m just focusing on trying to ensure the snakes stay in my stomach and don’t rise to the surface.
Felicity pulls back, squeezes my hand. “This is great,” she says. Then she checks my face, concern crossing her brow. “You’re sure?” she asks. “I don’t want to feel like I’m pushing you into anything.”
“Of course,” I squeak.
She smiles again, though there is a slightly puzzled look on her face. I wish I could respond the way this moment deserves. I wish I could throw my arms around her and tell her she’s a genius. I wish I could be myself, but… Jesus. I need to change the subject, to get out of here, so I can get my head straight and be myself again.
“You’re all set for tonight?” I ask, grasping for a conversational straw.
Felicity blinks, shudders slightly. “Yes. I suppose.” She regards her torn suit. “Change of clothes, and… well, how scary can the leader of our country really be?”
It’s a rhetorical question but I answer anyway. “He’s not going to shut MI37 down.” I find an element of certainty in reassuring her. Concentrating on her worries instead of mine. “We’ve been over this,” I tell her. “We’ve done good this year.”
And it’s true. We saved the world from imminent destruction three times last October alone. And it’s not got anywhere near that close to disaster since. Felicity has been politicking like a mad woman. We’re in a good place.
“It’s going to be a pat on the back,” I tell her. “And it’ll be nice enough even if you do have to laugh at his rather ridiculous jokes.”
Felicity sighs. “Yes. I know. You’re right.” The mantra of a woman reassuring herself. “But it’s been a year, and our budget still blows. We’re still understaffed. I can’t move Tabitha up into a full-time field role until we find a replacement researcher, and it’s not like we couldn’t use an extra hand in the field. Hell, it’s not like we couldn’t use an extra fifteen hands in the field.”
It’s a familiar litany of complaints. And perhaps if we were at home, and the TV was rumbling in the background, I would groan a little inside, but it’s nice here and now. Familiar territory. It’s safe to look back, to live just in the here and now. I lean my head against Felicity’s shoulder, letting the fug of fading adrenaline take over.
If nothing could change—that would be perfect. Yes, that’s what I want. For everything to just stay the same forever.
6
BACK AMONG THE DREAMING SPIRES
Evening has set in by the time we step off the train in Oxford. The autumn chills the air, but compared to the bite of the Highlands, it’s positively balmy.
Kayla still looks like someone took a piss in her Bovril. Tabitha and Clyde still have their heads bent together. Felicity stretches, shoulders cracking, then glances at her watch.
“OK,” she says turning to me, “I’ve got a few hours to get to Downing Street. Which means I had to go and straighten up about twenty minutes ago.” She turns and looks at Tabitha. “Any chance you can start the search on what the hell that robot was? We must have something in the paper archives.”
Tabitha grimaces. “Analog data. Fuck.”
I think she means yes. Felicity nods as if she does. “The rest of
Felicity looks away.
Oh God…
“Sure,” I croak, forcing it out. And I want this. I want this, damnit. “Yes,” I repeat, going for something more forceful, and failing to achieve it.
Felicity looks at me, eyes narrow, suspicious. I barf up the smile again.
And then she smiles too.
“Excellent!” She claps her hands. Two of the business men look up from their newspapers, wearing vaguely irritated expressions. Felicity leans forward and kisses me on my lips.
I close my eyes, kiss her back. I wish it was a romantic moment, but mostly I’m just focusing on trying to ensure the snakes stay in my stomach and don’t rise to the surface.
Felicity pulls back, squeezes my hand. “This is great,” she says. Then she checks my face, concern crossing her brow. “You’re sure?” she asks. “I don’t want to feel like I’m pushing you into anything.”
“Of course,” I squeak.
She smiles again, though there is a slightly puzzled look on her face. I wish I could respond the way this moment deserves. I wish I could throw my arms around her and tell her she’s a genius. I wish I could be myself, but… Jesus. I need to change the subject, to get out of here, so I can get my head straight and be myself again.
“You’re all set for tonight?” I ask, grasping for a conversational straw.
Felicity blinks, shudders slightly. “Yes. I suppose.” She regards her torn suit. “Change of clothes, and… well, how scary can the leader of our country really be?”
It’s a rhetorical question but I answer anyway. “He’s not going to shut MI37 down.” I find an element of certainty in reassuring her. Concentrating on her worries instead of mine. “We’ve been over this,” I tell her. “We’ve done good this year.”
And it’s true. We saved the world from imminent destruction three times last October alone. And it’s not got anywhere near that close to disaster since. Felicity has been politicking like a mad woman. We’re in a good place.
“It’s going to be a pat on the back,” I tell her. “And it’ll be nice enough even if you do have to laugh at his rather ridiculous jokes.”
Felicity sighs. “Yes. I know. You’re right.” The mantra of a woman reassuring herself. “But it’s been a year, and our budget still blows. We’re still understaffed. I can’t move Tabitha up into a full-time field role until we find a replacement researcher, and it’s not like we couldn’t use an extra hand in the field. Hell, it’s not like we couldn’t use an extra fifteen hands in the field.”
It’s a familiar litany of complaints. And perhaps if we were at home, and the TV was rumbling in the background, I would groan a little inside, but it’s nice here and now. Familiar territory. It’s safe to look back, to live just in the here and now. I lean my head against Felicity’s shoulder, letting the fug of fading adrenaline take over.
If nothing could change—that would be perfect. Yes, that’s what I want. For everything to just stay the same forever.
6
BACK AMONG THE DREAMING SPIRES
Evening has set in by the time we step off the train in Oxford. The autumn chills the air, but compared to the bite of the Highlands, it’s positively balmy.
Kayla still looks like someone took a piss in her Bovril. Tabitha and Clyde still have their heads bent together. Felicity stretches, shoulders cracking, then glances at her watch.
“OK,” she says turning to me, “I’ve got a few hours to get to Downing Street. Which means I had to go and straighten up about twenty minutes ago.” She turns and looks at Tabitha. “Any chance you can start the search on what the hell that robot was? We must have something in the paper archives.”
Tabitha grimaces. “Analog data. Fuck.”
I think she means yes. Felicity nods as if she does. “The rest of
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