It is a peculiarity of the intelligence world that, when a mission in cover is completed - successful or not - the agents involved invariably find themselves pen pushing for a long time afterward. Most of the time, they find it an annoyance, but in this case ....

After the Spetses mission, the successful extraction and confirmation of connection aliases, Margaret Miller had been glad of a little time spent behind her desk. Time spent away from the confusion that was pretending to be someone else, in the company of a man who was also pretending to be someone else. The CIA agents had been whisked back to Washington within hours of their debrief in London, helpfully preventing any chance of AJ or Meg falling over themselves to avoid having that dinner they had initially expected to share.

A few weeks of trans-Atlantic distance, however, had done Meg's peace of mind a world of good. She had been allowed to settle into being Meg again; to separate out her own feelings from the simulated feelings of the aliases that had brought her into close proximity with AJ Doyle. And she had come to a conclusion that had startled her. She did have feelings for him - for the man, the agent, not the aliases he had worn for the majority of their time together. But acknowledging those feelings and acting on them were two very different things.

Unfortunately for her composure in the face of a vulnerability she had not had to worry about for years, the CIA and MI6 were so pleased with the way the Spetses mission had turned out that the two agencies had finally agreed upon a liaison officer - an agent swap, essentially, one from each agency, and Meg was the chosen sacrifice to go to Washington. With the support of her agency, she was transferred across the Pond within another week, settled into an apartment and provided with everything she needed. Just a few days later, she was walking into CIA headquarters without the first idea what she should expect.

Names on the other side of the Pond had been carefully considered, and it had come down to a choice between two agents - Doyle or Riggs. Neither agent had been asked for their opinion either way, and in the end, Agent Doyle had been almost relieved to learn Riggs had been chosen for the London position. But that was before he'd also learned that Riggs was being traded for Miller. He'd had one month to sort his feelings out and try to forget her, but as soon as she walked through that door, with all that blond hair and that doe-eyed expression, he knew he was in trouble. There was nothing to do about it, but suck it up or request a transfer. For the first time in his career, he thought he might need therapy. The only problem was he didn't think there was any cure for what ailed him. At least Agent Amanda Drew seemed happy to see her, along with some other agents who welcomed her and offered to show her around.

It was a relief for Meg, at least, to know more than one face at the D.C. office, and to be welcomed so warmly after her initial induction was definitely reassuring. She couldn't help looking for that one particular face, however, feeling an odd ache the longer he remained unseen. Amanda Drew, however, had her own ideas about how to make that reunion come about. It was after lunch when she lead Meg through the bullpen toward AJ's desk, tapping on the wood to get his attention.

"Doyle, you remember Meg Miller, right' She needs computer access - set her up, and no excuses, or I'll share that picture from the Christmas party last year." And just like that, there they were, trapped together after a month of trying to forget about each other.

Meg bit her lip, her smile shy. "Hello again, Andrew."

AJ scowled up at Agent Drew, who was in actuality a close personal friend, though Agent Miller was the one thing he had refused to discuss, even over a couple of beers since his return from what was now being referred to as "The Spetses Job", like it was some kind of action-adventure movie. "Everyone's seen that picture already, Nancy!" he called after Agent Drew. Everyone but Agent Miller anyway. It wasn't Agent Drew's real name, but a sort of nickname he'd pegged her with from the first day they'd met. "Hello," he replied, trying hard not to meet her gaze, though he was going to have to come to terms with her being here sooner or later. "Which desk is yours?" he asked, as he pushed to his feet.

Straight to business, it seemed, and for a moment, his brusque manner hurt. Meg hadn't felt that kind of hurt for a very long time, frowning as she glanced around at the bullpen, counting the desks to locate the one she had been allocated. It was directly next to his. "That one," she told him quietly, gesturing toward it.

Of course, it was right next to his. It was as if the universe was conspiring to throw them back together again, for whatever purpose. "How was your flight?" he asked, trying to pick a safe topic of conversation, one that wouldn't tear open wounds real or imagined, as he moved over to the desk beside his and pushed a button to boot up the computer.

"Interminable," she told him, her voice just as he remembered it, warm and friendly and beautifully English. "I was sat next to a woman who I'm sure is lovely on solid ground, but at 1500 feet for ten hours was overly chatty, even when I was trying to sleep." She chuckled quietly at the memory of that. "Nothing compared with the conversation of the taxi driver who picked me up at the airport, though. Does everyone strike up random conversations with strangers here?"

"Not everyone," he replied shortly. DC wasn't exactly known to be an overly friendly place, though he didn't think it was unfriendly either. It was the sort of city where everyone always seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere, unless you were a tourist. Then, you were usually just in the way. But that was a cynical point of view, and he knew it. He also knew she didn't deserve it. If they were going to be working together, he was going to have to be at least civil. "They're probably intrigued by your accent," he reasoned further, hoping he wasn't being too rude by saying so. Her accent was intriguing, after all. It pegged her as being a foreigner, and a pretty one at that.

"Well, I have had a few people tell me how much they adore my accent, true," she smiled, perching on the corner of the desk comfortably. "My new landlady asked me if I knew a specific person who lives in Edinburgh, though, so it would seem that the general grasp of British geography is about the same as my grasp of American geography." She considered him for a moment, and spoke a little more sharply than she had intended to. "Are you going to look at me, Andrew, or is pretending that I'm invisible the new aim of your game?"

"Like the way you looked at me on the plane?" he countered - or rather, the way she'd avoided his gaze, avoided his company, until it was too late, and he had to catch a plane back to DC. "Never mind. Forget I said that. It's my fault, I know. I'm an asshole," he looked at her briefly before going back to the computer, tapping keys to get her set up with a user name and temporary password.

Her mouth fell open, about to apologize for her behavior before he cut her off. In the space of one sentence, he had managed to strike her dumb and prevent her from doing the one thing she had told herself she would do when she saw him again. As he looked back at the computer, she closed her mouth, steaming quietly at the sheer arrogance he displayed in taking the blame for her infractions. "I see," was what she eventually came out with, watching as he set her up on the computer network. It was the sting of being hurt by his curtness that motivated what she said next. "I apologize for being a nuisance. I had hoped to renew our acquaintance, but clearly since I am not allowed to apologize for my own behavior, I will evidently have to wait until you decide I am allowed to be a grown up."

"What do you have to apologize for" I'm the one that made assumptions. I'm the one who acted like a pompous ass while we were in Greece. I'm the one who ..." He broke off, taking a moment to look around the office to see if anyone was eavesdropping. What happened in Greece stayed in Greece, didn't it' What exactly had happened in Greece though' He'd had a month to sort out his feelings and now that she was standing there - Meg Miller, not Sarah, not Sophie - all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her. The hell was the matter with him anyway?

"Rugby," AJ mused quietly. Well, she probably wasn't going to find much of that here. "We have football. It's almost the same thing. Maybe I'll take you to a game sometime," he suggested, though football wasn't really just like rugby and he wasn't sure she'd want to go anywhere with him.

"You'll have to explain the rules," she chuckled, glancing up at his expression. Her smile softened a little. "I'm used to being alone, Andrew. It may take a little while for me to get used to spending time with you, but that doesn't mean I don't want to."

"If you can understand rugby, football should be a cinch," he replied, as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. He waited for a small crowd of people to get off before waving her forward. "I think maybe we should start with coffee and work our way up from there," he suggested with a smile that bore a hint of wariness. He wasn't hoping for anything more than friendship at this point, even if he secretly wanted something more.

She nodded in agreement, even if her smile did fade. The wariness was more than enough to puncture any growing hope, but she was determined to be friendly at the very least. Even if she wanted more than friendship, she knew he was making the right decision. "I suppose it all depends whether or not this place can make a decent cup of tea," she said in amusement. "Otherwise I may have to declare your workplace as populated by heathens."

He chuckled at little as they stepped into the elevator and he tapped a button that would take them down a few floors to where the coffee shop was located. "I'm sure they have tea, too," he assured her, amused her insistence on tea in a place where coffee was the norm. Then again, she was a long way from home, and she'd have a lot of adjustments to make. "So, how'd you end up picking the short straw?" he asked, wondering how she felt about being uprooted and sent to live and work far from home.

"Are you sure you want to know the answer to that?" she asked, with a slightly embarrassed cast to her smile as she leaned lightly against the elevator wall. "And if they don't have tea, I propose to have some sent over here and teach them how to make a proper brew."

His own smile faded, wondering if this was punishment of some kind for what had happened in Paris, though they'd been successful enough in Greece. In fact, he thought they'd done a hell of a job together ....at least, until they'd blurred the lines. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know, but you don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He didn't say anything else about the tea, as he'd already assured her they'd have some, even if it wasn't made exactly how she liked it.

"I volunteered," she told him with a rueful smile. "They wouldn't have considered me otherwise. And I put in the overtime hours to clear my desk, so they couldn't hold me in London because of pending projects I was working on. I suppose you could say that I badgered them into it." She glanced toward him, almost embarrassed to admit, "I really wanted the job."

From the look on his face, that wasn't the explanation he'd been expecting, but before he had a chance to remark on it, the elevator dinged again as they reached their floor. "Why would you want to leave home and come here?" he asked curiously, as he led her from the elevator and out into another long and crowded hallway.

Can't you guess" She was sorely tempted to ask it out loud, but it wouldn't have been fair to do so. "Because London was missing something," she said quietly. "Something I realized meant a lot more to me than I had allowed myself to believe until it was gone."

It, not him, but what was that it" He couldn't imagine, and he was feeling confused again. What was it about her that always seemed to confuse him' She couldn't be talking about him, could she" He didn't even want to consider it, for fear he was wrong. And what if he wasn't wrong" What if she was talking about him' What then" "Meg ..." he started, before looking around and realizing they weren't alone - not by a long shot.

She paused, meeting his eyes with a smile that understood more than he might have wanted. "I know," she nodded. "Just coffee, that's all I'm getting. And maybe a football game. But I don't regret coming."

"I didn't say that, and you're ..." He paused a moment to look around again, as if he was afraid someone might overhear. This wasn't the time or the place for this conversation. He sighed and scratched at his beard before falling into step again to led her onward. "Come on. Let's get your tea."

She nodded, understanding that this really wasn't the time or place to have this conversation. Hopefully they would manage to have it soon, though, or working together was going to prove very uncomfortable, for both of them. She tilted her head curiously at the sight of agents lined up along the corridor. "What on earth is going on here?"

AJ grinned, his confusion momentarily forgotten and replaced with amusement. "That, my dear Agent Miller, is the line for Starbucks." And what a line it was, which spoke volumes of Americans and their obsession with coffee, not to mention government employees. "Shall we?" he asked, waving her onward.

"You have a Starbucks in your headquarters?" She laughed, moving with him toward the line, bending to the side to try and see just how far it stretched. "Whatever happened to a small kitchen on every floor and your own personal mug?"

"It's a lot faster and more convenient than going out for coffee," he explained, which was true, considering the size of the building and grounds and the security one had to endure going in and out. "Oh, we have one of those, too, but I thought we'd take a walk," he told her, feeling a little silly now that she'd mentioned it. Okay, so maybe this wasn't just about coffee, after all.

"I appreciate the exercise," she assured him with a smile. "There really is only so long you can smile politely while someone explains how a phone works before you start committing murder in inventive ways inside your own head."

He chuckled as they lined up outside the Starbucks in a queue that seemed to go on forever, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wafted from the shop. "I'm pretty sure you already know how to use a phone."

"Not if you judge me by the induction material I have for this week," she laughed quietly. "Today is basic communications; I'm actually looking forward to combat readiness on Friday. I've already heard a few comments about how ....delicate and fragile I seem."

"I'm sure you'll have fun proving them wrong," he said with a grin. After all, he'd seen her in action; but he'd also seen another side of her and knew she could be quiet and bashful under the right circumstances. He was tempted to ask which Meg he was seeing today, but thought better of it, not wanting to risk angering her when they were getting along so well.

"I'm sure I will," she agreed confidently. "It's going to be a long week, though. Apparently I'll be taking over Riggs' cases next week" Does that mean Riggs is in London now?"

"Yeah, prick got a promotion. Can you believe it' After all that work, and he gets a promotion. Tell you the truth, the joke's on him. He's there, and you're here, and that's just fine with me," he said, in a rush of words he knew didn't make much sense. "I mean, I was jealous at first. Envious that he'd get to work with you, but now it doesn't matter."

"I'll have to see if I can find some for you, then," she chuckled. "Or make some, if I can be bothered. I'm afraid I don't usually have much enthusiasm when it comes to cooking." Which wasn't the same as saying she couldn't cook.

He could have made a crude joke about Belgian buns and the women - or he supposed men - who had them, but he held his tongue. "So, I guess I failed at breakfast," he said, with a slight frown. Yes, this really was what he considered to be breakfast. He took another sip of his coffee, knowing they should probably get back to the office before someone came looking for them. "So, uh ....What are you doing after work" I could show you around a little, if you want." He wasn't sure how settled in she was yet, if at all, but he was willing to help if she needed it.

"You and I have very different ideas about what makes a breakfast," she laughed, licking her fingertips clean before wrapping her hands about the paper cup in front of her. His offer brought out another of those almost blushes, her smile softer once again. "I would very much appreciate that," she thanked him quietly. "I only moved in a few days ago, and I haven't quite worked out where anything is, really."

"It's pretty easy once you get the hang of it. Traffic around DC is a bitch, but I don't live too far from here." He glanced at his watch and frowned. "We should probably get back." After all, they were only supposed to be on a coffee break.

"I suppose we should," she agreed reluctantly, drinking down what was left of her tea. "I should prove I know how emails work before the end of the day." She flashed him a teasing smile as they rose from the table. "I don't actually know how I'm getting back to my apartment yet, either. That should make the commute interesting - you don't have a regular bus service here, do you?"

"There's a bus, but I can give you a ride, if you want." It wasn't that big a deal, since he was planning to show her around anyway. He'd promised her dinner at his place once, but he didn't think this was the time or place to ask her about that again. He wasn't really sure where this was going now that they were co-workers, but at least they were talking, and friendship was better than nothing, wasn't it'

It was more conversation than they had managed at all, either in Paris, London, or on Spetses, so it was definitely an improvement. "Goodness, would you really?" she asked, genuinely pleased by his offer. "I suppose I should see about getting myself a bike or a car, but I thought I would wait to get used to everyone driving on the wrong side of the road first."

He chuckled as he got to his feet, gathering up the crumb-filled napkin and stuffing them into the bag. "What makes you think we're the ones driving on the wrong side of the road?" he teased.

"Because the wrong side of the road is obviously the right," she teased laughingly, tipping her cup into the trashcan as they moved out from the crowded tables and back into the oddly wide corridors of the building at large.

"Obviously to you because you're English, but to us, you're the ones who have it backwards," he reasoned, though it was a moot point that they were never going to agree on. There were probably a lot of things they were never going to agree on, but maybe they could at least agree that they enjoyed each other's company.

"You'd hate it in New Zealand, then," she smiled. It really was amazing what a little light conversation could do. Meg had relaxed in his company - not so much that she was going to do something that would draw attention to them, but enough to smile and laugh easily. She liked his company. "All right, so ....when do you knock off tonight?"

"What has New Zealand got to do with it?" he asked, laughing. Yes, he knew they drove on the wrong side of the road there, too, but he wasn't sure why she'd mentioned it. "When I'm ready," he replied with yet another grin. It wasn't a fib, exactly. He tended to stay late most nights, but quitting time was usually around five or six.

"Oh, that helps," she drawled with mild sarcasm, rolling her eyes at him as she laughed her quiet laugh. "I'll just have to drag out this interminable afternoon, then. Or would you prefer me to fit you with a bell, so you can tinkle when you're ready to take me home?"

"I'm sure we'll find something for you to do," he assured her as he led the way back toward the elevators. He knew it must be daunting to move to a different country and try to find your way around. At least, they spoke the same language. He was also sure it wouldn't be long before her caseload was full and she had more than enough work to keep her busy.

But until then, her days were going to drag. Even today, the first here, with various agents stopping by her desk to introduce themselves and help her wrangle the computer system with their own personal tricks ....it still felt like a short ice age until six o'clock rolled around. By that point, Meg had her head on her folded arms, willing the second hand on the clock to move faster.

On the other hand, AJ had his hands full, juggling reports and meetings, and updating files and cases. He barely had time to say a word to her for the rest of the day, so it was probably a good thing they'd had their little coffee break. By the time six o'clock rolled around, he looked more than ready to leave. He tossed his jacket on over his shoulders and logged off his computer before turning to her with a smile. "You ready to blow this popsicle stand?"

"Oh, God, yes!" She was up and out of her seat within seconds, her jacket on and her purse in her hands. "I don't suppose there's any chance of popping home to change before we do anything else, is there" I could order in, perhaps."

"Perhaps," he replied with a grin, teasing her a little. "I'm at your mercy, Miller. Besides, I promised you a ride home," he reminded her, hoping she didn't live too far and that they didn't have to waste too much time in traffic.

"Well, at the very least, I should make you a proper cup of tea," she told him, falling into step as he lead the way. She glanced at him, wondering if he had read the little slip she'd given him, or if she was going to have to somehow give him directions. "I plan to educate your taste buds."

"You're going to educate me on the proper way to drink tea?" he asked, with a chuckle. "Am I supposed to drink it with my pinky extended?" he teased, possibly misunderstanding her. To be honest, he'd forgotten about the slip of paper in his pocket, knowing he was going to be driving her home. "So, where are we going?"

"Oh, darling, if you're going to be pretentious, there are far better ways to do it than waving your little finger around willy nilly," she assured him laughingly. His question answered her wonderings, making her smile again. "4405, Franklin Drive," she told him. "In Langley. Apartment 404, though I don't think you need to know that to drive there."

"I could wave something else around, but I might get arrested," he replied, with that cheesy grin of his. His brows arched upwards when she told him her address. "Franklin Drive" You're kidding, right?" She had read his dossier, after all, but he didn't think his address was listed.

She snorted with laughter, shaking her head at his cheesy teasing. "Does it do the thinking for you, too?" she asked sweetly, though her expression cleared at his reaction to her new address. "Um ....did I get it wrong?" she asked worriedly, rummaging in her purse for her notebook. "No, look ....4405, Franklin Drive. What's the matter?"

Her smile faded. "That's a safe assumption," she agreed quietly. "Sarah has a big family, and she revels in it. I don't." Though she didn't elaborate, there was no sense of pain or distress in the way she offered this; no warning against asking any further questions. It was just a fact of her life.

He didn't miss the fact that she'd mentioned her grandmother in the past tense, so it was safe to assume that she, at least, had passed away, but that didn't tell him anything about the rest of her family - her parents or any siblings. "Do you miss them' Your family' England is a long way away," he said, deciding to assume she had some semblance of a family left, no matter how small.

"I've been on my own since I was eighteen," she told him, her voice still quiet, as though this was for his ears only no matter where they were. "It's difficult to maintain friendships outside work, so ....there isn't much in England for me to miss."

"Not here, it isn't. We're all one big happy family here. Well, all of us but Riggs," he added with a smirk, though Riggs had taken her place in London and wasn't there to get under his skin or defend himself. AJ came to a halt beside a very impressive and expensive looking motorcycle, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, here we are," he announced, fishing his keys out of a pocket in his jacket.

She had been expecting a car. But the bike really didn't surprise her, drawing a laugh from her lips as she shook her head. "Putting my life in your hands again, it seems," she said cheerfully, tucking her purse into the back of her pants in preparation for this ride.

"Disappointed?" he asked as he unlocked the helmet from where it was secured to the back of the seat. A car might have been more practical, but a bike was a lot more fun, and he didn't have too far to go.

"Not at all." She met his gaze, and for the first time since he'd met her, there was a wide, warm grin on her face, lighting up her eyes in a way that proved she wore a sort of mask even when she was being herself. "I couldn't bring my bike, after all."

"You have a bike?" he asked, brows arching upwards as he stepped toward her with the helmet in hand. "Here, try this on for size. It's probably a little too big, but it's better than nothing," he said as he handed her the helmet, not wanting to be blamed for messing her hair.

"I do," she chuckled at his expression. "Yamaha R6, if that helps you put the picture together." She took his helmet with a faint frown. "What about you?" she asked, though she didn't argue with him, flicking her hair back from her face before settling the helmet - oversized, on her - on her head. "I take it you don't have a spare."

"Helmet?" he asked, for a split second wondering if she meant whether he had a spare bike. "No, but we aren't going far," he said, as he helped her adjust and fasten the helmet. If he knew he was going to be driving her home, he probably would have driven his car in. Then again, this was a lot more intimate, not to mention fun.

She watched him as he adjusted the strap under her chin for safety's sake, rather enjoying the way his face relaxed when he wasn't worried about letting anything show in his expression. "I'm glad you know where we're going, because I certainly don't yet."

"So, what did they rent an apartment for you sight unseen?" He was more than a little surprised to have learned that she was going to be living in his building, at least, for now. "I'm sure you can find some place else, if you don't like it," he added, just in case, though he found himself hoping she wouldn't.

"I've been in it for a couple of days, but essentially, yes," she nodded in agreement. "It was part of the arrangement for the transfer, and I actually quite like it. It's bigger than I expected it to be, when I was told I was being put in a studio apartment."

"Wish I'd known," he murmured, mostly to himself, but then, what would he have done if he had known" Throw her a party' Knock on her door and ask if she needed help" Maybe. Take her out for coffee ....or tea" Certainly. And suddenly another thought came to mind, though he wasn't sure if he should ask it. "How much has been real so far?" he asked, against his better judgment. "I mean, Sarah liked coffee with sugar, but you seem to prefer tea." And that was just for starters.

"Sarah is American," she reminded him, though she didn't like the reminder that their first meeting had been quite so duplicitous on her part. "I don't really know how to answer that, Andrew. Do you know how to answer it, if the question is turned around to stripping away the differences between you and Jason' The lie is only the starting point, a baseline to stick to. It's the character, yes, but I can't stop myself from expressing myself through that character. I think the only way to know for certain is to take the time to get to know me, the way I'd like to get to know you."

"I've read your file," he admitted, somewhat guiltily, though she'd read his, as well, so it was kind of tit for tat. "It's impressive, but it doesn't really tell me who you are. I'd like the chance to get to know you as a person, as a friend even. Not just as a name in a file. If you'll let me."

"We know the facts, but we don't know how they fit into the picture," she said quietly. Drawing in a quick breath, she let it out in a rush, hurrying to get the words out before she lost courage. "I volunteered for this job solely because I knew I would be working in close proximity to you, and I might be able to convince you to get to know me and let me get to know you. You're the reason I'm here, Andrew, nothing else."

"Me?" he echoed. She'd practically said as much during their coffee break, but he hadn't really gotten it then, anymore than he was getting it now. "I don't understand. You volunteered to come here because of me?" What did she mean by that exactly' Did she mean what he thought she meant' He found his heart was beating a little bit harder, but he didn't want to get his hopes up too soon.

He didn't have the best view of her face now she was wearing the helmet, but as far as Meg was concerned, that was something of a blessing. This really wasn't the place to be having this conversation, but she'd dropped herself right in it of her own accord. "I like you, Andrew," she said simply. "You. Not Jason, or Jake, or any other aspect or character. I ....I came here hoping that perhaps there might be a chance you could like me."

And here he thought she'd come here to advance her career. He wasn't quite sure whether or not she was just teasing him, but one way or another, he was determined to find out. "I like you, too, Meg," he told her, a soft smile on his face, forcing himself to keep his hands to himself. The mass exodus from work wasn't over yet, and there were too many people around who might get the wrong idea. Or was it the right idea" After all, they were both consenting adults. Why did things have to be so complicated? "Come on. Let's go home. I'll make you a cup of tea and we'll order some Chinese or something."

It was a shame he couldn't see her smile, but her eyes reflected it - a shimmering example of hope and pleasure, and genuine excitement at the prospect of getting to know him properly. "I thought I was the one making the tea," she teased warmly, gesturing for him to get on the bike so she could wedge herself on the seat behind him.

"Fine, you make the tea. I'll order out," he replied with a grin, turning away so he could climb onto the bike. He kicked the stand up and held the bike steady, straddling the seat and waiting for her to climb on behind him. "Hang on tight," he warned.

"Trust me enough to order dinner?" he added, as he took the tray from her and started toward the couch and coffee table. Whatever it was she was used to in England, he was hoping to please her with his dinner choices. Cooking would have been better, but maybe he'd wow her with his cooking skills some other time. If he was doing anything out of the ordinary, he wasn't really aware of it. He was just being himself - not Jason or Jake, but Andrew.

"Well, you've had plenty of opportunities to poison me before now, so yes, I do trust you to order dinner," she chuckled, absently untucking the back of his shirt where it had caught in his pants, following him to the more comfortable part of her little apartment.

He felt the almost casually familiar adjustment of his shirt, but said nothing of it as he carefully carried the tray into the living room and set it down on the coffee table. "Why don't you pour the tea while I order dinner?" he suggested, once the tray had successfully made it the short distance from kitchen to living room.

"All right." She eyed him with playful suspicion as she perched on the edge of the couch. "You're being awfully mysterious about feeding me, you know." She paused a moment, looking into the pot to check the brew. "I rather like it."

"Nothing mysterious about ordering dinner. I just don't want you to be disappointed," he said as he pulled out his phone and texted the order, without even looking at the menu or the phone number. Apparently, he was a regular.

"Somehow, I doubt you could disappoint me," she assured him, pouring the tea out. She'd remembered to put milk and sugar on the tray for his convenience, which was something of a first, since she didn't take either in her own tea. It was a proper British breakfast tea, the kind drunk across England that didn't cost the earth to keep stocked in your cupboards.

He looked up from his texting, a small frown on his face. "There's a first time for everything," he warned her, obviously not as sure of himself as he might want people to think. He took a seat on the couch, smiling a little at the very proper way she was serving him tea, even if she wasn't using tea cups. "You know, I've never had a proper tea. We don't really do tea in this country, and I never really had a chance when I was in London."

"Well, to be fair, this isn't real tea," she admitted. "Teabags, this time around. I do have a few varieties of loose leaf that I brought with me, but I'm not sure how much of an acquired taste they are. The nearest city to my hometown is home to the Bluebird Tea company, and I'm a little spoiled." She chuckled, offering him one of the mugs before wrapping her hands about her own and easing back to sit comfortably on the couch. "You seem nervous."

"Nervous, me?" He chuckled, almost nervously. "Why should I be nervous?" he asked, as he reached to take the mug from her. "You're not going to lecture me on the proper way to drink my tea, are you?" he asked, remembering a conversation a few hours earlier involving extending his pinky.

She laughed, shaking her head. "Relax, Andrew, you're not taking a test," she assured him fondly. She was struggling a little herself, but it was mostly because the bed was right there. The temptation was very great, but she had promised herself she would get to know him before giving into that temptation. It was the most vulnerable she could possibly make herself with him, and as such, it really shouldn't be rushed. "Have you really never had tea before" I can put the coffee pot on, if you would rather."

"No, I've had tea," he said. "Just ....not like this. I know the English take their tea pretty seriously. So do the Japanese. I guess I'm just not that refined." He shrugged, as if in apology for his shortcomings. "We're mostly coffee addicts in this country. It's even become a big business, as you might have noticed."

"We don't take it as seriously as the Japanese," she was quick to correct him gently. "It's a social construct, yes, but having tea in England is vastly different to the tea ceremony in Japan. You have coffee breaks, we have tea breaks. It's pretty much the same relationship, really." She laughed at his mention of big business. "Yes, well ....Starbucks must be doing well to get a branch in CIA headquarters."

"Someone has to do it, I guess. They're kind of expensive, but no one seems to be complaining." As was evidenced by the line they'd had to wait in just to get a cup of coffee. He leaned forward so that he could stir a bit of milk and sugar into his tea - not a lot, just enough to give it a little sweetness. "My mother was a tea drinker," he said, as he stirred. Past tense.

"True, there is a lot of money in making horrendously unhealthy coffees these days," she agreed. His quiet addendum brought her gaze back to his face, a soft sense of sympathy in her expression as she considered him. "I'm sorry for your loss," she murmured, her tone almost tender, knowing that there were some losses no words could ever express or make up for.

"Thanks," he replied, not really knowing what else to say. It had been a few years since she'd passed, and though he still missed her, he'd come to accept it. "What about you? You mentioned your grandmother," he asked, curious about her own upbringing and reluctant to discuss his own.

Her soft smile made an appearance, a little bittersweet with nostalgia. "My parents died in a car crash, the day that I was born," she told him, knowing that this, at least, had not been in the file he'd read. "No siblings, just me, so my grandparents - my mother's parents - raised me themselves. Just as well I took a gap year, really, between college and uni; they died, naturally, within a few weeks of each other. My grandfather on December 2nd, my grandmother on December 24th. So I needed the gap year to settle their estate in the end."

"I'm sorry," he told her, his expression mirroring the sympathy he had seen on her face a moment before, sincere and compassionate. Though he was sorry for her loss, he was glad she'd had a presumably happy childhood. "I wasn't lying when I told you I was a military brat. My dad was in the service, so we moved around a lot. No siblings either. Mom called me her miracle child. When Dad retired, they moved to Boston. Mom died of cancer a few years ago. Dad's not well. I moved him to a facility here when I took the job at the CIA. First time I've ever really settled anywhere." There was a smile on his face when he told her the story, but it was tinged with sadness. Still, things could have been a lot worse.

They both seemed to view their losses with the same feelings - that sense of gratitude for the time they had been able to share with the families who had loved them, and the bittersweet knowledge of their loss. The intelligence services always had a place for orphans, after all. "Is your father still living?" she asked him softly, curious but not prepared to push him on this point.

"Yeah," AJ replied, that soft smile tinged with sadness. "He's a stubborn old buzzard. It'll take more than that to finish the old man off," he told her with a wry chuckle. "Maybe I'll take you to meet him sometime. He'd love you."

Her smile sweetened, glad to see him brighten as he spoke of his father. "Maybe," she agreed with a nod. "I'm sure he would appreciate the change in routine a little, at least. And since my accent is so adorable, you may end up with a little competition if he proves to be as charming as you."

"Oh, he'll do his best to charm you. You should see him with the nurses." AJ chuckled again at the thought of that. "But he really misses Mom. We both do," he added, as an afterthought. As much as his father might flirt with the nurses, he was still married to AJ's mother, in every sense of the word.

"Oh, right," he replied, chuckling a little to himself. "Well, I promise not to call you Mac, if you don't call me Junior," he told her, as he opened one of the boxes and used his chop sticks to fish out an egg roll and set it on her plate. He'd obviously had a lot of practice at this.

"I can't promise never to call you Junior, but I will endeavor not to do it in front of your friends and colleagues," she offered by way of a compromise, slender fingers breaking open her own chopsticks to settle them in her grip. Patience was not one of her virtues when it came to food, but she made an effort, waiting a little like an errant child to be served, all the while clicking the chopsticks together.

"Patience, Grasshopper," he chided her with a chuckle, as he pried open the other two boxes - one was Lo Mein, because you just couldn't have Chinese without having some noodles, and the other was Sesame Chicken.

"What' I'm being patient," she protested laughingly, although having had it pointed out, she was now rocking excitedly as well. It wasn't so much the food as the prospect of a meal in company - his company - but she had always been a little childlike when it came to eating dinner. It was certainly an interesting contrast with the cool, collected adult she pretended to be on a daily basis.

"By the way, you don't eat Chinese because it's healthy; you eat it because it tastes good," he informed her with a grin as he filled her plate full of chicken and noodle goodness, with an egg roll or two on the side. It was probably enough to give one a stomachache, but at least their mouths would be happy.

Meg didn't quite manage to prevent the giggle from escaping - that was her natural laugh, far more youthful than the carefully constructed laughter she allowed out in public. "Remind me to subject you to an English takeaway at some point," she informed him. "It'll horrify you."

"Are we talking fish and chips wrapped in newspaper?" he asked, curiously, a hint of playful humor in his eyes. "Because I've already had that." Once her plate was full, he went about filling his own, taking up an egg roll on his chopsticks to take a bite.

"Oh, no, I'm talking ....curry with oil floating on it, or a doner kebab!" She grinned at him cheerfully, taking his nibbling as a sign that she was allowed to eat. "I think I would pay to watch you eat a doner."

"With a name like that, you might have to," he replied with a grin. Never let it be said that AJ Doyle wasn't at least a little adventurous when it came to food, though he'd never heard of that dish.

She giggled again, this time around a mouthful of egg roll. "Where's your sense of adventure?" she teased, groaning happily around her mouthful. "I should learn how to make this ....or just install a revolving door in the nearest takeaway place."

"I've never managed to master Chinese. There's no point really, when it's so cheap and readily available with just a phone call," he explained while he expertly gathered up some of the Lo Mein and guided it to his mouth, slurping up the noodles with a mischievous grin. There was really no other way to eat them, unless you wanted to cut them up, but where was the fun in that"

The art of conversation definitely suffered when it came to eating. Meg was somewhat focused on her food, displaying an interesting determination with the chopsticks if no actual skill with them. Occasionally she asked about the food, wanting to memorize this particular order, but she was mostly concentrated on putting away enough food to sink a tanker.

There was no doubt that the conversation lagged a little while the two of them made short work of the take-out, all of it washed down by the tea. There was nothing for dessert, except fortune cookies, but after a carb-laden meal like that, it wasn't really needed. "Pick one," he said, holding out a handful of the things, palm upwards.

Wiping her mouth clean, Meg considered the handful for a moment before picking a cookie out of his grasp. "You know, I have a weird track record with these things," she warned him. "They are always true, one way or another."

"Of course, they are. That's why they're fortune cookies. I have a theory about them. I think they just put fortunes in there that could apply to anyone. It's just a matter of interpretation. You don't really think a cookie can tell your fortune, do you?" he teased, that amused gleam in his eyes, as he picked one for himself and set the others aside. "Go ahead. Ladies, first," he invited her with a nod of his head.

"My, my, what a gentleman," she teased him fondly. "I did warn you." With a crack, she opened up her cookie, pulling the little strip of paper from inside to scan the words written on it. There was a moment's pause, and her face lit up in a bright blush, her expression twisting into an embarrassed smile. "Oh, good grief ..."

"That bad, huh?" he asked with a chuckle. He knew how silly fortune cookies could be, and even embarrassing if one hit the right nerve. He wasn't budging though. He wasn't opening his, until she shared. "Come on. It can't be that bad."

Hiding her eyes with one hand, she passed the fortune over to him, dissolving into embarrassed giggles. On the paper was the legend ....The love of your life is sitting across from you. Silly, perhaps, but it had definitely struck a nerve.

He reached for the slip of paper, brows arching upwards at her reaction before he turned his gaze to read the words written there. Chuckling, he handed it back. "I won't argue with that," he told her before cracking open the cookie he'd chosen and skimming the words with a thoughtful, "Hmmm ..."

Surfacing from her embarrassed giggles, rescued from being completely humiliated by his positive response to the fortune, Meg tilted her head, eying him as he skimmed his own. "Hmmm?"

"Can't really argue with this one either," he said, as he handed her his own fortune, which read: Use your talents. It's what they were intended for. Once again, that was open to interpretation, and he couldn't help smirking as he wondered how she'd interpret it.

Cue another blush as she skimmed that fortune. "I think my mind has descended to the gutter," she attempted to excuse herself, only to lose any hope of dignity when she looked up into his smirk. "You're doing that on purpose!"

"Doing what?" he asked, laughing. "It's not like I knew what they'd say!" he pointed out, in his own defense. "Do you want to try again?" he asked, as there were a couple more to choose from. Whoever had been filling his order had added a small handful.

"Smirking in that infuriatingly tempting way you have," she informed him, picking another fortune from the collection. "Don't pretend you don't know you're doing it, you know you're a handsome man." Giggling once again, she opened up the second cookie, unfurling the fortune. "Oh, this one should have been yours," she said, reading it aloud. "You can open doors with your charm and patience."

That got an uproarious laugh out of him. Whether he knew he was handsome or not, it amused him to no end to hear her accuse him of it, like it was a crime. "My ego thanks you. By the way, did you notice the line of women waiting to get a date with me?" he asked, with obvious sarcasm. There was no line of women, and he hadn't asked anyone on a date in a very long time. "Charm, maybe. Patience" Not so much," he replied with that smirk of his as he picked up another cookie and broke it in half. "Hmm," he said again. "And maybe this one should be yours," he added, reading it aloud, as well. "Open your mind and heart to good things."

"Tuaca?" he echoed, uncertainly. "Is that the sound you make as you gag on it?" he teased. The word sort of sounded like Chewbacca, but that wasn't something you ate.

"It's my favorite alcoholic drink," she laughed, dumping her handful of trash into the bin and opening up the countertop dishwasher she had gone out of her way to find when she'd moved in. "It's like brandy, but flavored with vanilla and orange. It's lovely."

"Good lord. Sounds like an alcoholic version of a creamsicle," he said, with a look on his face that told her he found the thought of that disgusting. "Takes all the fun out of getting drunk. Alcohol isn't supposed to taste like candy, Meg. If it doesn't burn on the way down, it's not booze."

"If it makes you throw up before you even manage to swallow, then it's hardly suitable for consumption, is it?" she countered, laughing at this difference between them. But then, there had to be some differences, and a distaste for one another's favorite tipple wasn't insurmountable. "I will have to make you try some, sometime. You can't express an opinion without tasting it, I refuse to allow it."

"Are you going to return the favor on that one, Agent Miller?" he asked, a teasing grin on his face. He hadn't mentioned what his favorite form of alcohol was, but she could be sure it wasn't going to be anything he considered "girly". He scraped his plate into the garbage and set his plate and cup on the cupboard. "So, what do you like to do for fun?" Besides the obvious choice of a roll in the hay.

"Naturally, I give as good as I get," she allowed laughingly, taking his plate and cup to set them in the dishwasher along with her own. It was nowhere near a full load, so she closed it up without starting it, and turned to start putting the coffee on. His query made her giggle quietly. "I, um ....I like board games," she admitted. "And video games. Just games in general, it seems. Why, what do you like to do, Agent Doyle?"

"Board games?" he echoed, chuckling. "Like what? Monopoly' Checkers" Poker?" Poker wasn't really a board game though. It was cards, which was different. "Oh, I know. Ever try a Ouija board?" And there was that teasing grin again.

She laughed at his teasing, switching the coffee pot on before turning back to him. "Yes, all of those," she said. "Card games are fun, too. A ..." She snorted with laughter as he teased her with his last suggestion. "Are you suggesting we try to contact the spirits of the dead in an attempt to get to know each other" I must warn you, I am terrible to watch horror movies with. I scream. A lot."

"You scream in the bedroom, too, as I recall," he teased further, though he wasn't too sure if that had been all her or part of the act, despite what she'd told him about not faking it. "And I'm not suggesting anything. I will have you know I'm a pretty mean card player, though," he warned, waggling his brows.

Given the way she blushed, that had not been a part of the act. She rallied, though, raising a hand to poke him in the chest. "Oh, really' Care to prove that, or are you all mouth and no trousers?"

He laughed at her comeback, the poke hardly making so much as a dent. He was in good shape, after all, as she should well have noticed. "I'm just warning you in advance. Of course, if you prefer a game of checkers, we can do that instead."

"Oh, no, you're the one who started boasting about being good at cards," she chuckled. "Cards it is." The kitchen was a pretty narrow space, so sliding past him was all kinds of interesting. "Any particular game in mind, darling?"

"Is there any other game but Poker?" he replied with a grin. Well, what did she expect him to say' Gin Rummy' "Question is, what do we want to bet with' Or is this just going to be a friendly game with no stakes?"

"Isn't there a way to play friendly with stakes?" she asked innocently. "Unless, of course, you're backpedaling because you think you're going to lose." She flashed him a grin, slipping past to seek out a pack of cards from a drawer.

He chuckled at the implied dare in her voice. "Is that a challenge, Agent?" he asked, grinning down at her from his height. Far be it for him to decline a challenge or a dare. All things considered, it didn't seem to matter whether he won or lost this game, though that depended on the stakes.

"Do you know, I rather think it is," she answered sweetly, surfacing from her bend with a pack of cards in her hand. "Are we playing with stakes, or not' I'm going to make you decide that. It's only polite, you are my guest, after all."

"I don't think there's much point in playing if we're not playing for stakes. Name it," he told her, unsure if she wanted to play for money, clothes, or booze. He was game for any of those, though he was biased toward strip poker, considering the company.

She narrowed her eyes, laughing as she got comfortable on the floor again. "How about ....whatever comes to mind?" she suggested impishly. "Could be information, could be a drink. Whatever you feel like putting out there."

"Information?" he echoed, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "What kind of information?" he wondered aloud. This kind of game begged for booze, but he supposed they'd have to make do with coffee, once it was ready anyway. In the meantime, he followed her back to the coffee table and took a seat on the floor across from her.

Well, she had mentioned drinks. Setting the cards down, she stood up as he sat down, moving to open up a cupboard and produce a bottle of whiskey, and a bottle of Tuaca. "Well, we don't know everything about each other, do we?" she pointed out, setting the bottles down on the coffee table and wandering into the kitchen to produce beer from the fridge and a couple of glasses. Alcohol would help, she had a feeling. "For example, I might stake an embarrassing story about myself. Then, if you win, I have to tell you, no matter how embarrassing it is."

"I thought you didn't have any Chewbacca on hand," he teased, purposely mistaking the name for Tuaca. Whiskey and beer were more to his liking, but he was a little surprised she was suddenly producing booze ....unless she was as nervous as he was. "It might be easier to just take off your pants," he remarked with a grin.

"I never said I didn't," she chuckled, and abruptly laughed her giggly laugh far louder than before, dropping down to sit at the coffee table with him again. "PG-13, remember" Unless you manage to get me so drunk I forget my own rules." She winked at him, pouring a measure of Tuaca into one of the glasses. "You deal."

"What fun is that?" he grumbled, frowning before he sighed in resignation. "Your house, your rules," he agreed as he reached for the cards. Once he started shuffling, it became apparent he'd had plenty of practice, shuffling and cutting and showing off just a little. "What are we playing here?" he asked, needing to know that before he started dealing.

"Five card stud," she told him without a second thought. It was the only variation of poker she was in any way familiar with, though he didn't need to know that just yet. If ever. "Otherwise we'll spend hours betting."

"You gonna bet me a Tuaca and raise me a shot of whiskey?" he teased, as he started dealing the cards, one by one, five to each of them. He wasn't too worried. After all, she'd supposedly read his dossier, and he'd thus far managed to dodge most of her more private questions. What more could she possibly ask" His favorite color?

It really was amazing what they could get out of playing like this. By the end of two hours, they had managed to share a startling number of utterly trivial details about themselves, from the first real kiss to the greatest fears to the most embarrassing birthday; even a dare that involved putting an ice cube down her top and his pants on a draw. There was plenty of alcohol involved, too, which was how Meg ended up tipsy and a lot bolder than she had thought she was.

Studying the latest hand closely, she raised her eyes to AJ, a mischievous smirk on her face and said, "I bet ....my bra."

AJ had had his own fair shares of shots, both sweet and strong and was feeling a little fuzzy, but not nearly as tipsy as she was. They'd shared a few secrets, but nothing too earth-shattering. He didn't care much if she knew where he'd had his first kiss, that his favorite color was blue, or that he was secretly terrified of heights. His latest hand, too, wasn't much better than those that had preceded it, but it was all in good fun. He arched a brow over his cards at her latest bet, knowing it had to be the booze talking. "I thought clothes were off-limits and we're keeping this PG-13," he reminded her. The ice cubes had been pushing things a bit far, but it had been worth it to see her wriggle.

"It's underneath my clothes," she pointed out with an inebriated smile, her words ever so slightly slurred by now, every gesture that little bit too exaggerated. "And I can get it off without taking my t-shirt off. So there. Your bet." Her smile grew to a self-satisfied grin as she leaned back, needing to take another look at her hand just to make sure it hadn't changed while she wasn't looking.

"Well, I'm not wearing a bra, smart ass, so what am I supposed to do if I lose?" he pointed out, trying hard not to raise her bet to add panties. "I mean, if you want to take off your bra that badly, by all means, go ahead. You don't need to lose at Poker to do that."

"Take mine off, of course," she told him cheerfully. "From underneath." Drunk Meg was definitely more inclined toward silliness mixed with a healthy dose of lust, it seemed, but at least he didn't need to worry about her only wanting him for his body. She had laid down the rules while sober, after all; what happened while she was drunk was out of her control.

He rolled his eyes. "Honey, I could take your bra off without even going beneath your clothes, if I really wanted to." It was all about the technique, and she hadn't said anything about only using his hands. "Might I remind you that whether I win or lose this hand, those stakes have me winning either way?"

She giggled, nodding. "Uh-huh. You should raise me. Or you could fold, and then all you can do is watch. Maybe I could make you wear it instead."

"You're drunk." It wasn't an accusation, but a statement of fact. He'd lost count how many she'd had hours ago, but it was obviously enough to make her giggle and slur her words. Lucky for her, he wasn't the kind to take advantage. "Your bra is not a bet. How's this then" If you lose, you take off your bra. What do you want if you win?" He was giving her an opportunity here, if she chose to take advantage of it.

"I'm only a little bit drunk," she protested, though it was pretty obvious she was more than a little bit drunk. "So ....I have to think of something else?" she asked, scowling in concentration. "A kiss" Is that a bet?"

He rolled his eyes at her lack of imagination, but decided she was in no state of mind to push too far. "Fine. I lose, I give you a kiss. You lose, you take off your bra." It was silly, really. He'd already seen her without a bra, and she'd already had a kiss from him, but there was no point in arguing the fact with a drunk female. "I'm calling it right here. No raising. No trading cards. What have you got?"

"Lots!" she declared, laying down her hand. And it was true, she did have a lot of cards. Not one of them matched the others. It was, in actual fact, a truly terrible hand, and she really had no reason to be so proud of it.

He looked over her hand, realizing she'd lost, even with the ridiculously crappy hand he was holding. He laid down his cards - a pair of Aces, along with some other mismatched crap that amounted to nothing. "I win."

Letting out that delightfully drunken giggle once again, Meg pushed herself up onto her knees, more than happy to pay up. It did involve drawing rather more attention to her chest than she usually allowed, with all the thrusting and wriggling, but eventually her bra came out through one of the sleeves, and was immediately tossed over his face. "Ta-da!"

He laughed as he watched her wriggle out of her bra. Well, at least she'd accomplished it without toppling over backwards. That had to count for something. He laughed, catching her bra in one hand before it hit his face. He was obviously not nearly as tipsy as she was. "You're going to regret this tomorrow," he told her with a grin.

"You think so?" Settling onto her heels, she considered him for a long moment, rubbing her hand against her neck. "I guess I should make sure I really earn that regret then, don't you think?" A grin that might have been predatory if she hadn't been so tipsy made itself known on her face as she crawled up onto the coffee table, advancing on him.

Oh, boy. He realized that drunken Meg was a lot like her Sophie alias. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, except that she'd been the one who'd said she wanted to go slow, and here she was practically throwing herself at him. "Meg, I'm not so sure this is a good idea," he told her, reaching for her to make sure she didn't lose her balance and fall off the table.

Heedless of the scatter of the cards, she slithered off the table to straddle his lap, nose to nose. This might be a lot like the Sophie alias, but it was all Meg, with no real filters attached. She nuzzled him tenderly, almost purring at how close they were. "I always have good ideas," she murmured, her lips brushing his. "My timing isn't always great, though."

His arms went around her as she climbed into his lap, nose to nose with her. Her lips tasted of a mixture of Tuaca and whiskey, but that hardly bothered him. It was the fact that she might regret this in the morning if he let it go too far. "Sweetheart, I want this as much as you do ..." he started. Probably more, if the way his body was reacting to her was anything to go by. "But is this really how you want this to happen?" There he was, trying to be a gentleman again. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway"

She pouted, but she wasn't so far gone that she couldn't follow the very real care in his gentle reminder of her own rules. "Maybe we should call it a night," she sighed softly, drawing her fingertips through his hair. "Kiss me" Please?"

He looked as full of regret as she was, but these were her rules - the rules she'd stated before they'd had too much to drink - and they still had to work in the morning. "I'll go you one better, and tuck you in," he promised, touching a soft kiss to her lips, before moving to his feet, with her in his arms. He supported her with his hands, winding her legs around his hips so that he could carry her toward the bed, just on the other side of the couch.

She nestled in close to him, laying her head on his shoulder as he lifted her up and bore her toward the bed, not really wanted to let go of him. "You smell so good," she murmured, more proof that a drunk Meg had no control over her own tongue. "You could sleep with me."

"I smell like booze and Chinese food," he pointed out. Never mind what kind of cologne he wore, if he wore any at all. She hadn't asked, and he hadn't volunteered the information. "I could," he replied as he laid her carefully down on the bed and pulled the blankets up over her. "But I'd rather you remember it when I do," he told her, touching a kiss to her cheek. "Get some sleep, Meg."

Her fingers stroked against his cheek as he laid her down, the alcohol already sending her off into happy sleepiness as she cuddled under the blankets. She was almost there when a worried thought made her half sit up. "I will see you tomorrow, won't I?"

"I'll come by in the morning to pick you up," he promised, though he thought it might be a good idea to take the car this time. "Night, Meg. Thanks for tonight," he told her, kissing her lips once final time before creeping away to turn down the lights and clean up the mess before he let himself out.

She smiled as he kissed her, relaxing back against the pillow with a happy sigh. "Good night, Andrew." Tomorrow's hangover might be hideous, but right now, in her drunk state, watching him move about her apartment as she succumbed to sleep, it was worth it. No regrets this time.

In the morning, he'd make sure she had coffee and aspirin to help with that hangover, but tomorrow, as they say, was another day. He only hoped that when morning came, she wouldn't regret what had happened tonight - and that was the main reason he wasn't staying the night. As for himself, he had no regrets - not a single one. Not even what had happened in Paris or Greece. If not for Paris and Greece, she might not be here right now, and for that he was thankful. As cliched as it sounded, maybe this really was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.