5:28 p.m.
Lizard Point, Cornwall



By the time he’d finally dragged his ass out of bed, morning had come and gone.


Out at the marina – where he waited at the ramp, the one that would serve as a walkway – Rick stared up at the flying dirigible he had rented for the evening, his blank, stony expression doing exactly nothing to hide the dread welling up in his gut. As most dirigibles were prone to being, the ship was massive, a behemoth of careful metalwork, historic ingenuity and a nod to times past– which, as far as the artificer was concerned, was a more polite way of calling it old. Old, antique, and obsolete (since the latest models had gotten more streamlined since then), this one was… not a deathtrap, right (he’d have had to be freaking stupid and incompetent then, okay, and he was neither and would rip the idiot who so much as hinted it a new one), but there were reasons the blueprints of its ilk had been traded in for newer ones. Like efficiency. The thing guzzled fuel the way idiocy murdered his patience fire ate up paper, and while he’d done what he could to ensure it’d work as smoothly as possible… There hadn’t been a lot of room for improvement.

And that wasn’t even why he was anxious worried tense. No, that would be his date.

The Head of DMLE. Jesus freaking- His sins, seriously.

As soon as he’d found out, he’d done his damnedest to keep it under wraps. While his friends had laughed themselves sick at his luck (-or, lack thereof) the second they found out, the risks hadn’t been lost on them; at best, he’d be a laughingstock for a week, tops– the poor moron who had to have dinner with freaking Brown, the very last auror no criminal worth his salt wanted within breathing space. At worst…

It was only a date, Rick reminded himself as, unconsciously, he tugged at his collar, staring unblinkingly into the horizon. As waves lapped against the algae-crusted legs of the pier, he reminded himself that while background checks had probably been run once his record had been pinged, he’d been either acquitted or not convicted, the rest of his crimes– and furry problem –still yet to be uncovered. He’d been careful, and he’d keep being careful; an ill-planned date wasn’t about to change that.

By the time his self-given pep talk was over, the top buttons of his shirt were undone. It didn’t really do anything, of course– that’s what drinks were for– but it made it easier for him to crack his neck and roll his shoulders, muscles restricted only by the tailored lines of his jacket. Relax, he’d been told, as a hand affectionately patted a cleanshaven cheek. Ease up, give those brows a break—the whole point is to look less dangerous, right?

Right.

Rick glanced at the flowers in his hand– a modest bouquet of blossoms that maybe-sort-of-not-really matched the bleeding skyline –and sighed. Yeah, right.

But there was no time left to regret his life choices; as soon as the sound of footsteps reached his ears, the wizard turned, expression caught in a tense, unsmiling stare. And it barely ebbed as she drew closer—even though it grew very clear as to what, exactly, he was looking at. Not least of all being a set of lush curves that a man would have to be dead not to appreciate.

However—nice… eyes or not, the woman in front of him was still the Head of the DMLE.

Screwed, Rick thought as his mouth tugged into a smile. He got the feeling he’d be lucky if all she looked into was his criminal record. “Auror Brown,” he greeted, holding a hand out to shake hers, and his gaze was thoughtful as it briefly darted up and down her figure. (Old habits died hard.) “You look nice,” he said, and he sounded a little surprised by it; he hadn’t realized how much he’d been expecting the stiff-necked outfit he’d seen in the paper once until now. And as he found himself eyeing the strategic draping of her dress, the wizard found himself appreciating the difference. Regardless of particular facts.

Blinking, Rick gave a slight shake of his head and offered up the flowers in apology. “For you,” he said, and cracked a slight, crooked grin.

---

The things she did for St. Mungo's. If Luthas and Fuyuki (well, she was pretty sure Luthas was involved in this somewhere), had just set her up, Admete wouldn't have gone. But it was for the bloody fundraiser for St. Mungo's, and she'd been in there too many times to bail on that.

She'd even gone with the ridiculous, fancy dress that tugged uncomfortably at her chest. Supposedly it looked good, but mostly it didn't ruin her movement too much.

And then there'd been the security arrangements, a bit more so with Mr. Donovan's history, something that had been prodded very thoroughly. Admete half expected that a pack of Hitwizards would pound her date if she started coughing, let alone anything more serious. And well, she wasn't half bad at taking care of herself either.

They were both there, might as well enjoy it a bit, even if he was squarely in no second dates material. She managed a smile as she shook his hand, her grip firm. "Thank you, Mr. Donovan." She hadn't expected flowers, though. Nice touch.

Nice enough that he got a bit more of an open smile from her. Far worse things in the world than that. "Oh, lovely!" But she still took it with her left hand. Old habits.

She liked the flowers. And no one had sprung a sting on him yet. That- wasn’t a lot to work with, yeah, but he could work with that.

(The ‘mister’ part… not so much. But he could work with that, too.)

“Glad you like,” Rick said, relaxing a bit, because while he could name at least half the flowers in that bouquet by their scientific names, he knew next to nothing about flower arrangement, or whatever the hell they meant in their so-called ‘language’. As long as they were 1) colorful; 2) nice to look at; and 3) not roses, specifically red ones, that was all he pretty much cared about. In fact, he was feeling relaxed enough for a smirk, “I wasn’t sure if aurors even did flowers,” which, while not especially cheeky for him, it was, in this case, pretty damn cocky-

But it was a brief thing, though, that a beat later his expression had gone stiff again, sincere in its politeness but awkward. Merlin knew the Prophet hadn’t done her rack a lick of justice, but this was starting to feel all too much like a date with someone’s mom, specifically one with a horde of twitchy, overprotective brats. Brats that, no doubt, would be on him at even the smallest sign of provocation– one that Rick had no interest in giving.

Or did he? He never did grow out of that penchant for pissing off authority…

“We should set off soon,” Rick told her comfortably, as he idly admired the splash of color the bouquet provided. By no means was he a fashionable guy, but even he could admire a figure for something other than its assets, and the flowers were a nice touch. She looked… softer somehow, more approachable (even if he’d snap his wand before forgetting what she was), and the new assessment was enough to make him offer her an arm and a sardonic lift of his brows. “Shall we?”

"Only do flowers if they don't clash with the dress robes." Admete smiled at him, the briefest flash that was helped to dissipate by the sudden stiffness in his expression.

Might be that he knew that they knew that security. Just the way to make it awkward.

For St. Mungo's, had to keep her focus on that.

And he had brought flowers.

Wouldn't get any easier if she meandered about in a fuss though. So she took his arm, managing a touch of a smile. "Let's be off then. I'm curious." Hadn't sounded like a normal date; not that any date was normal. Least not the sort Admete wound up with.