Things were awkward.  Archer could tell that much.  Everything since early September had been just a little weirder.  Neither of them mentioned it, but by this time, it was getting a little difficult to avoid.  Kendra continually asked about the woman he had brought in that evening and where was she, what was her full name, what was he doing with her, why he didn’t ask her back – it was all very annoying.  He was going there now to forget about things like that – not be consistently reminded of them.  He warned the squib on several occasions that he was going to hex her into next year and cover it up himself if she didn’t quit it.

Apparently, that had been more telling than if he had actually divulged the information she wanted.  Thankfully, Barnes was not the type to put things together.  Even he had come up to Archer to ask about the mystery woman (if only to sate Kennie), but Archer was quiet on the issue.  

It was generally understood that he was quieter than usual and everyone found it odd.  He found it most odd.  Even his thoughts weren’t funny.  It unsettled his stomach and made his mind race.  It was like he couldn’t stop thinking – usually not a problem for him after hours or when he was just listening to a game, but even Quidditch couldn’t hold his attention for very long, he was constantly going over and over everything – he could almost still feel that recoil.  

Taking a deep breath, he had decided, told himself, that he was going to have this conversation whether it was wise or not.  It hadn’t gotten better and the two week limit had passed.  He needed to get the resolve and go – it was easier to go toe-to-toe with a potential murderer than cross the threshold of that office again.  He glanced at his watch – the face plainly reading nearly 8 PM.  He had to catch up on some things (an excuse to stay) and now that everyone was gone… he couldn’t wait another minute.

Rising from his uncomfortably small chair in the uncomfortably small cubicle, he instinctively and anxiously adjusted his shirt and tie.  He felt like it was tight all of a sudden and loosened it a little.  Not surprising, he thought – most things felt tighter when he even thought about going in to privately talk to her.  He wondered, occasionally, if she felt the same way – it was disconcerting.  

Letting out that deep breath, the one that accompanied the sickening gurgle of his stomach, Archer strode forth.  Times like these, he wished his legs were shorter – it would take longer to cross to that frame, seeing her inside, crouched over the desk.  He didn’t bother to knock, she’d have heard him anyway and he tentatively took that final step over the part of the floor where the main office carpet met the private one.  

“This is a problem.”

Flame crackled and flared, licking the air in an intricate and seductive dance. To a coveted choreography, they leaped among the pair of logs, jumping and frolicking and twisting in combustion with the oxygen – flourishing between the two sustaining forces. One of the logs in the fireplace cracked and the flames  grew in intensity, illuminating the single sheet of parchment held before it just that much better.

Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, Tamis Raynor was turned half between her oak desk and the fireplace behind it, allowing the glow of the latter to consume the report she held before her nose. She tilted it downward, shifted it upward, leaned forward and squinted at it, and even leaned back and stared down her nose at it. No matter what angle she peered from or what light source she used, the indistinguishable scribble remained just that – indistinguishable. Script was not a required course for Aurors, but really now. She scowled at the parchment in vain.

The grandfather clock nestled in the corner of the office chimed discretely for a final and eighth time.

Why was Archer Radley still here? She knew it was him, that solitary soul still grumbling and rustling in the cubicle out yonder. This late in the evening, Raynor was accustomed to being alone on the desolate second level. The eerie silence that usually lurked in the darkened corridors beyond her open door had become a routine comfort. A lingering light penetrated that usual darkness and while all the Aurors shuffled none of them shifted quite like Archer did -- most of them did not share his hapless plight against the furniture.

The cryptic scrawl blurred as Tamis’ mind drifted from the parchment. Her partner and she had – well, they had not been at top performance lately. She had not avoided him, per say -- that would have been extremely childish – but their interactions had barely deviated from the strictly professional. They did their job, interacted as needed, and any jests had seemed strained and lacking actual heart-filled humor. The friendship that had blossomed over the years that so often created the undertone of their partnership was clouded with tension. And it was noticeable. The more outwardly expressive member of the duo in particular. Raynor had never seen Radley so self absorbed and serious for such an extensive jaunt. It frightened her and certainly concerned others.

What frightened her more that she was both relieved and bothered by this new found distance. It started the morning following the night at the muggle range. She had been falling apart at the seams that day, stricken and left vulnerable by her inner demons – at least that was how she was explaining it. What she had felt standing that close to Archer Radley, to have his chin nestled on her shoulder, arms wrapping around her… Tamis had thought she had come beyond craving that emotional comfort of security from a man. Never would have thought it would arise from that man. She kept on trying to blame it on it on environment and circumstance; wrong time, wrong place so to speak.

As if summoned by her inner turmoil, a chair dug awkwardly into the carpet as it was push backed and wriggled out of. Yes. Unmistakably Archer. Those heavy, cumbersome footfalls were distinct and resonating even against the buffering flooring. He was heading for her doorway, the intention was almost tangible in the air. Swallowing heavily, Tamis tried to undo the knot in the middle of her stomach.

She kept her eyes cast carefully down on the parchment, feeling rather than seeing him enter, allowing the print to focus again (for what good it did).

A long silence followed his words.

“It is,” she finally agreed. “I think Pratt’s penmanship has progressively worsened over the years.”

Tossing the undecipherable document back on top of her desk, Tamis pinched the bridge between her eyebrows. One of these days she would learn to read with better illumination, but the dim lighting maintained a certain ‘mood’ that was effective on non-Auror visitors to her office. Granted there was no one to impress at the Ministry at eight o’clock at night but humans tended to be creatures of habit… she was mentally rambling and knew it. Anything to keep from having to look up at the towering man in the doorway. Anything to keep from having to address the true meaning behind those words. She knew what she would find.

With reluctant resignation she admitted that she was out of alternatives. He looked like she felt. There was no other way to describe it. It was her month for trying conversations, it seemed. She really, really was horrible at expressing herself verbally.

 “Come in, Archer.” She finally said, even though he was, in fact, all ready in the room.

Normally, Archer would have walked into a room like this and smiled to himself.  The lighting was low, the fire was popping with that all too familiar crackle, and the musky scent was radiating from the fireplace.  It didn’t hurt that there was a woman in the room, of course, this particular woman had been giving him the worst kind of grief possible; gut wrenching uncertainty in combination with a conscious stream of self-doubt were at her expense these past two weeks.  He had never felt quite this confused on an issue before. 

People naturally assumed that a man who was Archer’s size was rather stupid, like he could use his body above his brain for everything.  But no, Archer was smart.  He always had been, he was just quiet about it – and when he couldn’t make sense of something, he asked about it.  It never took him this long to ask.  He had never been afraid to ask before.  Right now, he was almost petrified.  It was the most scared he had been in years. 

He did not find it funny when Ray attempted to be evasive, that damned piece of paper in front of her and her ridiculous way of bringing Pratt into it.  He did not want to hear about Pratt at this moment.  He didn’t want to hear much about anything other than what he was here to talk about.  He was here to figure out what was going on with them – with his life and why he was messing up like he had been.  He wasn’t even fun anymore, he had been told and for two weeks, that was quite a long time for Archer Radley to go without being even the slightest bit amusing. 

“That’s not the problem,” he declared with a dark sort of tone, coming further into the office as he did.  He wasn’t going to wait for the invitation that might never come; he was going to come right in – march up to her – sit down and talk.  He didn’t care if her life was difficult.  His life was getting progressively harder as time went on and he was more frustrated than he had been even in the range.  That had been a long cold shower.  They were just going to get longer until he snapped out of this. 

Setting his jaw, the man stopped short of his desk, glancing down at the woman sitting behind it.  Leaning down, he placed his palms on the flat surface.  He was hunched, legs moving back, his dark eyes leveling with her light ones.  He didn’t know if the tightening he felt in his stomach was nerves, anxiety, anger, or a mix of all of them.  Whatever it was, Archer was sure he didn’t like it and was tired of it.

He was tired of waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat; he was tired of feeling agitated and tense when he came into the office.  It was exhausting.  And all the extra hours weren’t helping either – he was near her all of the time.  “I’m already here,” he said flatly, taking a shallow breath and shifting his weight. 

“Ray,” he started, unsure of what to really say – he had never been particularly good with words, better at observing and figuring out the things to do.  He was slow to think of the words to use, but he was getting there.  His mouth was dry all of a sudden, where was water when he needed it?  Licking his lips, he shook dropped his head and shook it for a moment, an embarrassed, awkward smile on his face – amused at his inability. 

He lifted his eyes again, glancing at her with a new purpose.  The smile faded quickly.  He lifted his hands from the desk and rubbed them together, dropping down to her level again, fingers splayed and eyes directly upon her.  "This," he motioned vaguely between them with his left hand, unsure of which words to use to describe what exactly 'this' was, "is the problem."

A pair of large hands pressed against the surface of her desk so hard that she was almost surprised when it did not snap under the pressure. For a long moment, the woman sat there staring at them, hardly even breathing. Muscles constricted and he hunched over her in a way that made her feel every bit five feet fall for the first time in her life. Unease shifted through her brought on by a terrifying sense of vulnerability. Strengthening her will, the miniscule woman raised her eyes to find Archer Radley’s scant inches from her own. She could differentiate every hue of brown that composed his dark irises.

Many individuals proclaimed that the bear of a man could be extremely intimidating. She had never believed them, until now. Radley had always simply been Big to her. They had been through a number of intense arguments and never had he successfully managed to scare her. It was a feat many had failed in the attempt of. He was scaring her now.

Anger. Torment. – Fear. It was a tirade of contorted sensations that emanated from him. The last one in particular was alarming. Everything about him was tense and rigid and engulfed in his shadow as she was, Tamis felt completely helpless to that onslaught – as if it might release and consume her at any moment. He would never harm her. Archer Radley would never intentionally hurt her. It was this knowledge that kept her from caving into an instinctual reaction of cringing back into her chair and away from obvious source of angst. Instead, she remained completely motionless, unable to tear her eyes from his.

His tone lacked emotion entirely as he informed her that he, had, in fact already let himself into the office. Yes, she was very much aware. 

“You are frightening me.”

It was a statement of simple truth. Her gaze never wavered and she never shirked away from him. She was quite certain that her expression had never changed. But it was the truth.

Chest constricting painfully, she waited with uncharacteristic patience, letting him work through whatever it was that he was trying to say. It was inexplicable but she felt as if her entire state of being depended on what words were to come next. If it had been her undivided attention he had lingered after for, he sure had a hell of a way of getting it. But the words never came. Much like herself, Radley had always been a man of little words. Perhaps that was currently their greatest downfall. She failed to share his amusement over the fact.

She knew what ‘this’ meant the first time he had said it. ‘This’ was the fact that she was sleeping even less regularly than usual. ‘This’ was the tension that had existed between the two of them since the night at the Gun Range. It was their very social dynamic, which no longer seemed as simple as they had pretended it to be for the past thirteen years. Swallowing hard, she tried to get past the lump in her throat with very little success.

“What would you have me say?” She asked quietly. He had come here for answers; he was making that painstakingly clear. There had to be a solution and he wanted her to give it to him. The problem was, she was not sure she had one.

It was never his intention to frighten anyone who did not deserve it.  He could be gruff, he could be angry, he could be a lot of things, but he did not intentionally provoke fear.  Some were just afraid of his size in general, remembering Fauna Blake and Akiva Katz he was very aware of this.  His mind flashed to the small, dirty woman whom he had carried through the woods to Nadge’s home.  The way she had screamed when she first saw him, resisted and fainted, then panicked when she woke up.  He knew it was not because of him, but rather what a man like him represented – raw power. 

He could feel every pump of his heart through the tips of his fingers and, if he wanted too, probably could have lifted it and thrown it across the office, should he feel like it.  He was that wound up in his own unease and discomfort.  But, when she emotionlessly declared that he was being frightened, the power that had pumped through his veins, pulsed in his neck and narrowed his eyes dissipated.

There was this overwhelming sensation that he had done something terrible.  Withdrawing from the desk, Archer rested his hands on his neck, unsure of how to proceed.  He didn’t want to scare her, that was the farthest thing from what he wanted to do. 

In his frustration, he began to pace.  It was a slow, methodical movement – something he could repeat for the time being.  He needed to collect himself, remove himself from her.  He had been so close, he could tell each fleck of gray in her eyes, the subtle twitch of her eyebrows, and ultimately the expression that wasn’t so much written in her features as in her steely eyes.  She was frightened and confused, possibly hurt, it was all there.  He wondered how she was so good at hiding her feelings; he was absolutely terrible when it came to things he was really invested in.

Thirteen years of investment was in this partnership.  Over a decade of arguments, investigations, successes, and failures were mutual memories and they enjoyed a comfort from that.  They had, at least, up until two weeks ago.  And now she was the same woman – reserved and conservative without an inkling of anything going on that might confuse her and he was practically a mess.  He finished his papers, he did the filing himself, he was withdrawn and couldn’t even pay attention to a game.  He had turned down tickets to a Puddlemere game because he just didn’t feel like going.  Why wasn’t she as affected?

And when she had the nerve to ask him what he wanted her to say, Archer stopped mid-step and just turned toward her, mouth agape and eyes lowering again.  He didn’t want to be frightening, he reminded himself, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he seemed to have a distinct trouble with regulating his volume.  “What would I have you say?” he repeated with a biting sort of anger, “How about anything Ray?”

He stood in his space, midway between the door and the desk, and balled his fists by his sides.  One was released so he could put it on his forehead, rubbing one of his temples, face contorted in pain – pressure from stress.  “Two weeks,” he said finally, exasperated with only a hint of anger, faded away to a sort of dismal recognition of the sadness of this state, “Two weeks have gone by and you can’t tell me nothing is different.” 

He felt like such a woman.  If he weren’t already a tower, he would think he was wearing high heels or something!  “And you want me to tell you what to say?” He thought about leaving now – clearly she was just not having it.  “I might as well go.”

“Damn it, Archer.”

She was on her feet now as well, head hanging between her shoulders and her jaw clenched so tight that it was a wonder that her jugular did not burst under the pressure. He stormed in here, bearing down on her, confronting the very feelings she had been so painstakingly trying to dismiss, shouted at her, and now he was threatening to leave? Her overwhelming concern for him, her fear for him – she could never actually be afraid of him. He could frighten her, but she would never fear him – was being overwhelmed by her own frustrations, so carefully masked for the past two weeks. It was as if he were suggestion that she had been uneffected. Did he truly think her that cold hearted? Her fingers curled inward against the desk, tightening into fists and she took a handful of careful, shallow breaths. Finally she looked up at him.

“Of course I have noticed.” Perhaps the heat in her tone was not as controlled as she thought. “How could I not?” It was impossible to ignore the way her pulse picked up whenever he was near. Nor the frustrating way that she wanted him to wrap his arms around her again and relive the steady rhythm of his breathing against her back. Her already broken sleep was furthermore disturbed by a ghostly chin resting against her collar bone and a warm cheek pressed against the side of her neck. It was insanity.

Merlin, it had been fourteen years since she had desired that kind of attention from a man. Fourteen years since she allowed herself to care this deeply.  She was not sure she could open herself up a second time. When Tait Aldridge died he had taken a part of her with him that she was never going to get back again. It had hurt. So. Much. It was a pain that she never wanted to experience again. Yet despite all of her logic, she wanted to open up to Archer Radley; she wanted to give him that chance.

So why could she not just say that?

Because she was scared, more scared than she had been in long while. Opening up meant making herself vulnerable to another person, a state of being little-miss-independent had worked so many years to avoid. And worse, she did not know if that vulnerability was about to be trampled. They were friends. Very good friends. On top of that, perhaps more importantly, they were partners. They had not always been friends, but through better and worse they had always been partners. She did not want to compromise that. Was he just responding to her emotional turmoil or did he possibly have the same grievances? He had always been so easy for her to read, why was she having trouble now?

He practically shouted at her and despite herself, she flinched as if physically struck. The words stung.

“Anything?” She repeated. “‘Anything’ is a very broad topic.” She turned away from the desk, both hands running through her hair in pure aggravation. She took a few steps, almost came out from behind the desk and then thought better of it. The barrier might be for the best at the moment.  It hurt her to see him in so much obvious pain, under an uncharacteristic stress. She wanted to make it stop. She did not want to hurt him and yet she seemed to be the source. “I – I do not know what to say, Archer. I feel like my life has turned upside down.” Her jaw flexed and she corrected her statement, “Like we have turned upside down.”

The grip on her hair began to hurt, so she let go, settling for crossing her arms defensively under her chest. The anger drained out of her and she turned weary eyes back on him. “What are we going to do?” She was almost waiting for the disgust, for the rejection.  Almost waiting for him to actual walk away.

It could have turned ugly very quickly if Archer were not afraid of cursing her.  Well, he wasn’t afraid so much as reluctant.  For all they had gone through, he was not in the habit of taking out his wand for no reason and hexing people.  Though, he really felt like it.  She was swearing at him now and the man scowled at her.  He didn’t know what to do with her at this moment.  It took all that to even get a rise out of her.  He could feel himself get agitated the second she came near him, let alone spoke to him as though nothing was wrong between them, he had to practically accuse her of being an ice queen to get anything out of her – and she could have only been trying to prove him wrong. 

“You sure as hell don’t act like it,” he bit back at her – knowing full well she masked every emotion she might have even chanced to have.  She wasn’t a readable person and it was ace in the field but on a personal level, when he needed something she was impossible to place on any emotional gauge.  She was evasive and consistent – he had trouble with this, he hated it sometimes.  He dreamed of cursing her when she was acting like that – seeing a rise out of her now almost made up for the fact she was silent on the issue for so long. 

Looking at her, it was hard to decide what he wanted to do.  She was fired up too, which meant something, but he didn’t know if she was mad at him or mad in general.  It could have been either – he didn’t know which was worse.  He couldn’t stop thinking about her- it made his blood run hot and his thoughts drive around in circles. It was infuriating.  The only reason it was harder for people to notice his discomfort was that his face was typically a lot higher than theirs.  He could afford to make faces because he could be sure most wouldn’t see them. 

Right now he was being the most obvious he had ever been.  His red face, the angry stare, clenched jaw, tight muscles – the whole package screamed of pent up frustration.  Nearly two weeks of a dismal funk he could not even hope to get out of.  It was horrible, frustrating and he wished she would at least have indicated at some point before now that she was feeling the pressure and tension.  Glancing at her, with her hands through her hair – it was like he could actually smell the lavender released from the locks, and shook his head – she was probably thinking of the best way to inform him that he was being an idiot and should go home.

Instead, she questioned him, sarcastically baiting him with a question in response to his excited shout.  She was certainly pushing all sorts of buttons nowadays.  For years he had found her to be attractive, but it never really hit him like this.  It didn’t strike him like this.  He had never actually felt her breathing against him, never wanted to feel that.  It hit him like a bludger.  At least she was acknowledging it at this point.

And when she looked at him, arms crossed like usual, protecting herself – because that’s what she was bet at, he sighed.  What were they going to do?  Archer couldn’t think of much – well, he could only think of one thing.  Striding around the desk with purpose, Archer Radley had it in his mind.  He was going to make her regret standing like that, looking at him with those cold eyes and questioning him like he was a criminal. 

His jaw was set, his mind was made up.  The barrier of the desk was being crossed.  He would have jumped over it, but that didn’t seem appropriate at the moment.  Besides, it wouldn’t work that way.  He grabbed her on the shoulders and turned her toward him, trying not to hurt her, but at the same time, he was going to need her facing him.  He gripped her tightly and put her on the desk, letting his hands quickly run down her arms, rest by her hips for a split second and then down right onto the desk, leaving them centimeters from one another.

The gap was quickly closed and a lightning strike came between them.  Archer grasped something under his hand and crumpled up the paper.  Frustration was draining from him and he felt like their lips were going to bruise.  It was torturous but luxurious.  Just what they needed - at least in Archer's opinion.

This was definitely not rejection. 

She did not act like it? Her jaw worked for a response that never came. Shutting it firmly, she turned away from him, muttering and cursing a number of choice expletives under her breath. The fireplace crackled again as another section of a log split, but its warmth failed to affect her. It was extraordinarily hard to deny a truthful statement. She did not like not being right. Humility had never suited her very well and she did not like wearing the ill-fitting garment. It did not help that Archer was shoving it over her head and wiggling her arms into the too small holes.

That was not the only thing he was doing.

Something blurred in her peripheral vision and Tamis half-turned immediately transitioning from frustrated woman to alert Auror, her hand already reaching for her wand. That could not be Archer. He never moved that fast. Wrong.

Her left arm froze just shy of her wand as powerfully built hands clamped down on her shoulders, forcefully shifting her away from the warmth of the fire and into an entirely different kind of heat. She only had one brief chance to glance up at his face, which was locked in a serious dedication she only ever saw before he agreed to a duel with an untested adversary. An expression that said he was not quite sure what the end result was going to be, but he was too stubborn not to go through with it now that he had put his mind to it. She was not sure how she felt about that comparison in regards to their very close predicament.

The pressure on her shoulders increased painfully. It did not hurt as much as it could have – Tamis knew what true physical pain was – but it still lacked his usual care and consideration.  The protest had not quite cleared her lips when he lifted her and then next thing she knew she was on the top of her desk, legs dangling over the edge. Her face flushed.

“This manhandling is becoming habitual,” she growled up at him, but the statement lacked it’s usually vigor. He was far too close to her now for her to think coherently enough to actually summon the necessary anger to give the words more impact. Still. Just because he was bigger did not mean jostling her around was acceptable. It gave him too much of an advantage.

Was he really going with this where she thought he was? Yes. Yes he was. His hands trailed down her arms, leaving them tingling in their wake. There was barely a millimeter between then. Her pulse was racing and yet simultaneously panic was overcoming her. Then the distance between them vanished and the world really did turn upside down.

After what seemed like a life time, she pulled her lips away from his, dazed and still battling the urge to run. It made her tense. “I think.” She swallowed. “I think we need to talk about this.” Well, at least the ‘woman’ characterization had found the right gender this time.

She did not pull away from him other than the separation of their lips. Something told her that Archer especially needed the physical contact, but they were going to talk. Her wand was still in ease of access, if it had to come to that.

Archer could feel himself breathing heavily. His chest constricted and expanded as it would if he ran a marathon or something.  Collecting himself and his thoughts, he realized that her words were correct – there had been an onslaught of physical contact before the two week period that cut between them like a ravine.  He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but afterward, he had time to reflect and realize just how many inconsequential movements they made where they touched more than they ever had before. 

For most of their partnership, at most, they shook hands, bumped shoulders, or something of the like.  There had always been a sort of invisible barrier in between them, particularly on Ray’s part.  She simply did not engage in physical contact with anyone from what he observed.  She was removed and detached, but there had been a shift – brought on by him, of course, but she had not turned him away.  It was probably the most detrimental part of this dilemma: contact. 

It was worse because he usually associated this kind of behavior, these kinds of thoughts with other women – women he felt alright looking at like that.  Ray was not someone he felt comfortable seeing in this new light – noticing just how nicely her tailored clothing hugged her curves despite her small stature, the incessant smell of lavender that he had been unfortunate enough to catch a giant whiff of it in a cauldron of amortentia during the questioning of an apothecary last week.  He knew why, and it frustrated him beyond reason. 

He would have moved toward making the most of what he was currently doing – before she killed him – but he was too late.  She pulled away, snapping the thin sinew that kept them together, leaving Archer’s mouth slightly open and his eyes shooting open wide.  Her gray eyes were wide – she was panicking.  Bugger, he thought, mistake. 

He did not move, in case she changed her mind – and then she said the words he did not want to hear.  Talking?  No.  He had taken the action! He wanted the action to continue.  If she was done with him – if she was going to reassign him to Pratt permanently and take another partner, he wanted to know.  If that was it, that was it.  But at least he had his chance – made his case in few words, but very telling despite this. 

Managing to clear his throat, he was surprised he could even conjure sound and he eased up.  Archer fell back into her chair and looked up at her, unsure of whether he wanted to be standing for this anyway.  It would be easier to receive any and all bad news sitting down, or he could hope for the sliver of a chance something good could come of it and she might join him in the chair.  For a moment he was jealous – the chair was very comfortable – and then realized that was not the most important issue at hand. 

“What is there to talk about?” he asked in an uncharacteristically flat, husky voice.  He folded his hands in his lap, just looking up at her, confused and curious, “I showed you what I want.  Just give it to me straight, Ray.  Am I being reassigned or what?”

Moments ticked with only the sounds of their heavy breathing to break the silence. He was still leaning over her, so impossibly close that she could feel their combined body heat trapped between them in an already warm room – as slight of build as she was, the cold was one of Raynor’s most abhorred enemies and she tended to stroke the fireplace before anyone else did once the temperature began to drop. Mind reading was not one of her talents but his thoughts were almost tangible in the air. She almost did not think he was going to relent. Finally, he did.

Lips still parted, he lingered over her, those deep brown eyes widening in mimic to her lighter ones. He took another minute to consider and then flopped backwards into her waiting chair looking as if he had been mortally wounded and was now waiting for the finishing blow. Tamis did not want to be the one to deliver it.

This was why, over the years that they had known each other, she had tried to keep the contact between them minimal. There had been good times – and there had been bad. Through it all, she had convinced herself that they were merely friends and that was all they ever were going to be. They had been acquaintances before she started her Auror Training. He had been the occasional victim to her shenanigans at Hogwarts and after that Tait had mentioned the burly man fondly several times. Which is why, when she did start her training, it had aggravated her so that she had been attracted to him. Just being around him had infuriated her. Because the attraction was not right, even then.  She had still been grieving the loss of Tait. She had no right at all to be attracted to another man while the pain of that was so fresh. Least of all one of Tait’s friends.

So she had created boundaries.

Boundaries which thirteen years of wear and tear were finally beginning to erode; but now there were other obstacles in the way.

Grasping the edges of the desk with the intent to slide back down it, her hand hit a small crumpled ball. Frowning, she unraveled it, reveal Pratt’s report. Temporarily distracted, she smoothed it out the best she could to no avail; the words were now further obscured by large creases.  “Now I will never be able to decipher it,” she grumbled, scowling at Archer as she slipped it inside of her desk. For safety’s sake. Then, pushing off, her feet finally hit solid ground. She felt less dignified with her feet tangling two feet in the air.

Somber again, she nodded her head. His question was a respectable one that she had been contemplating herself. The Auror Office tended to be informal, this was true, and there had been a number of Auror romances and marriages in the past. The difference here was rank. For however informal they were, she was still technically his supervisor. The line between private and professional lives was blurring. But if she reassigned him after working thirteen years together, everyone would know what had happened. And she did not want to reassign him.

“Only if you want to be,” she told him as professionally as she could matter. Shaking her head, she swallowed hard again. Yes, he had shown her what he wanted in one respect. But were they on the same level of understanding? “What exactly do you want, Archer?” She asked softly, with a different meaning.  

Clearly, new lines were being drawn on their relationship and he had made a very large point that he wanted that relationship to include physical contact. But was that all that he was interested in? She needed to know that, more than anything else, before they preceded one way or the other and she decided how she was going to handle this – both personally and professionally.

That damned report, he glanced at the parchment that she carefully and almost loving tried to smooth out.  If she only cared about what was going on right now as much as she cared about the report she was trying to read.  It was in handwriting that practically comparable to a dead language, it’d need a key to unscramble and that was just unnecessary for an office that relied upon case reports at all times.  Really, Pratt needed to get himself together – of course, who was Archer to talk? 

He was the one sitting in the head auror’s comfortable chair, trying to figure out how to proceed.  He left the issue of the paper alone, not wanting to distract from the meat of what needed to be discussed by talking about parchment that ultimately didn’t matter.  Well, it did matter, but if it was that cat case or something of the sort, Archer was not in the mood to argue about a piece of paper.  There were more important topics he wanted to tackle. 

Letting the air drain from his body out of his nose, Archer looked at her from his seat, noting that she wasn’t much taller than him sitting down.  She did look at least a smidge older standing, however, rather than sitting on the desk with her feet dangling like a young child (he had not thought of it that way a few minutes earlier).  He was just ready to hear what she had to say – what she thought she was going to do. 

She wasn’t going to reassign him though, if he was given the choice.  Clearly she didn’t have it in her mind to do so and Archer couldn’t imagine working with someone else permanently. He enjoyed work because of the people he worked with and their dynamic was one completely conducive to getting work done as well as fostering a sense of camaraderie and work ethic.  She was quick and smart and ruthless, he was dogged and loyal, ready for anything – they were an ace pair.  It would be a disservice if they were split, but an even bigger one if they were not and remained with the schism between them. 

And when asked what he wanted, Archer took a moment.  He clenched his jaw shut to avoid answering too quickly and allowed himself to think on the answer.  He didn’t know precisely what he wanted – but he did know that he was not interested in messing around anymore.  He didn’t’ want to walk around in circles and avoid the issue.  It bothered him and he had always been one to go for things – he sat back for a time, but only long enough to make sure it was what he really, really wanted.  After thirteen years and several agonizing fights with himself, he decided that it was pretty much what he was in need of. 

The question had been posed to him earlier, by another person, to which he responded the wrong way.  He wanted to make sure he was doing Ray justice in answering and it took him longer to contemplate.  Every second he waited felt a little more like an hour and he exhaled deeply, only to inhale again – finally mulling over the right words to use. 

“Ray,” he started, leaning forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees, “To be perfectly honest, I’m not one hundred percent sure what exactly I want. But…” here was where he was going to say something he really didn’t expect to ever hear from himself, “I’m not going to go on like there’s not something else we could be wasting our time doing rather than dodging one another and whatever else.  Ray, I don’t know about you, but it is has been thirteen years  - and I am sick of playing around.”

With baited breath Tamis waited for the answer. She was not sure how much of their potential future rode on a response to that very vague and pointed question. This was painful enough. Contemplating the chance of allowing anyone in past her carefully devised barriers was excruciatingly frightening. She needed to know, demanded to know, just what he in this for. Physical attraction – lust – was not good enough. And if that was all there was for him, she would stomp out whatever existed between them and reassign him. She would never forgive herself. She would do it. The job was far too important and if there was going to be animosity between them; she could not allow that to affect their performance. The Auror Office simply could not afford it.

A lifetime seemed to tick by with the steady beat of the grandfather clock and the popping of the fireplace. The orange light from the latter splashed across his face, making the creases and lines harsher as he contemplated, dictating their fate.

Finally, the verdict came.

It was nothing resolute – she had not been expecting a four year plan. She had not even been expected a week’s forecast. That would have been unfair when she was not entirely sure what she was looking for either, but she knew what she was not looking for. The life of an Auror was too volatile to attempt to peer into the future… try getting a life insurance plan in that career. The receptionist would laugh you out of the office. She just wanted to know that there was something more, that he was interested in Her.

For a long moment she stood stock still, looking down at him, but not by much (even sitting, his eyes were about level with her chin). Relief shot through her and she released that breath she had not been aware of holding. It would have killed whatever was left of her humanity to have to let him go. He did not want to play around. Was not looking to, that was good enough for her.

She knew what she needed to do, but the persistent fear still held her rooted in place. It was aggravating and irritating and she chided herself. Completely ridiculous. After all, this was just Archer. How many times had she chanted that?

Oh, to hell with it, woman. She took a step forward, closing the distance between them once more, absolutely aware of him. Her right hand travelled up the left side of his chest, palm flat against the rigid muscles, the tips of her fingers brushing his clavicle. Was it his heartbeat she was feeling or her own pounding pulse?

Gray eyes locked onto his darker brown just once as if asking permission – such a silly thing really, considering he had not bothered to. She was trying, in that brief fraction of a second, to gauge his reaction.

Then her left hand latched onto the right collar of his shirt, pulling him up (for once) toward her. She kissed him nothing like the way he had just kissed her. Slow and soft and in complete contrast to her pounding heart. She tried to say as much as possible in that one, single kiss.

Finally, she drew back and released her grip on his shirt, though her left hand remained firmly planted against his chest. She was not sure how stable she would be without that anchor.

“Okay,” she replied.

If this had happened any sooner, Archer probably would have felt he was betraying something from his past.  He wasn’t supposed to see Tamis Raynor in this light, at all, particularly when he had a friend who died in the line of duty – her fiancé.  It was difficult to process, especially at the beginning, which was why he thought they fought so bitterly at first.  He was angry that his friend had died, she was angry that her fiancé had died, and they both felt like they had something to prove.  Unfortunately, through it, they became partners and friends. 

It took him a long time to accept it and finally, once it settled in, he realized that neither of them could live like they were. Archer hadn’t had a stable relationship since… ever… and Ray was just dismally alone. Though he would never voice his concerns, particularly to her, she had glimpses of humanity that showed she cared far too much to be so solitary.  And Tait, from what Archer had experienced, would want her to actually live her life.  He was a Gryffindor – he had spirit and vivacity and would want Ray, if he really loved her (Archer knew this to be true), would want her to be happy.

And who was to say he couldn’t do that?  Archer certainly felt like he could – being there for thirteen years and seeing almost everything under the sun with one person was pretty much the same thing without the officialness of it all.  Granted, they would not be spreading any of this around – at all -  but it made sense, to him anyway.  And Ray needed to see it too.  He just waited for it to hit her like it had hit him over the past few weeks. Glancing upward, he felt his stomach twist a little and gurgle.  He was either very nervous or hungry – possibly both.   

She looked something like a fish out of water, eyes big and a little pale – though the paleness, he reasoned, was not his fault but rather a construct of being locked it an office all day.  Leaning back in the chair, he resigned himself – this long without an answer usually meant that there was no turning back and he could either expect to be pack up and leave or work with Pratt for the rest of eternity.  He expected it when she stepped forward, almost thinking she was going to put her hand on his shoulder as consolation, but she missed that mark. 

Her hand fell lower than his shoulder, brushing against his chest and tapping at the protrusion of his collar bone.  A chill ran down his spine and he looked upward, “Ray?” he questioned confusedly, but was cut short.  She almost lifted him up by the collar (Damn! She was strong when she wanted to be) and put Archer in the position she had been in earlier.  He, however, had a much more receptive response, putting his hands on her hips almost immediately and gripping down, just to make sure she wasn’t going to go anywhere. 

It wasn’t the same kind of feeling he got when he was kissing anyone else – it was explosive and invigorating without having to reflect that.  Indeed, it had much more impact in the way of explaining just how things were going to go – slow, cautious but uninhibited, was that probing?  Well, if it wasn’t, Archer was certainly going to make it that way, and tugged her down into his lap to get a better angle (he could not imagine having to kiss UP all of the time), left breathing slightly irregularly when she pulled away, leaving him a little bleary eyed as well. 

Leaving his hands on her hips, Archer nodded at her response, the corners of his lips turning upward not so discreetly.  He couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved and a lot of the pressure he was feeling wasn’t draining off of him.  He didn’t find it hard to be happy about something he had practically fallen apart over.  “I turned down a quidditch game, I’ll have you know.” 

The internal battle between right and wrong melted away when his hands settled on her hips, holding her steadfast. The grip on his collar tightened and she leaned forward.  A trickling of a guilt still lingered for a dead man she had maintained fidelity for over a decade. She had loved him. She had been prepared to spend the rest of her life with him. And she had lost him in the most traumatizing way.

 For years she had convinced herself that it was depraved for there to ever be another. The most logical way to prevent from feeling that level of agony again was to abstain. She had been alone for so long that she did not know how to be anything else. But the heart’s capacity was not finite. Continuing to deny it was an exhausting battle and she had too many wars to contend with right now to fight that one good fight.

There was a purposeful tug and instead of kissing and leaning over him, she found herself in his lap with him leaning over her and now on the receiving side of that kiss. It was an entirely pleasant and different sensation. It made her pulse race and accelerated her adrenalin and yet at the same time overwhelmed her with a pleasant calming sensation. It was as if the troubles in the world had suddenly disappeared.

The need for air became inevitable and when she pulled back they both seemed a little dazed. His hands were still cradling her hips and her right hand was still pressed against his chest and neither one of them seemed to feel any urgency to move. Tamis was completely relaxed against him. After that, the physical contact did not seem so much like a source of anxiety anymore.

Turning back was doubtfully still an option now, even if she had wanted it to be. After that first initial kiss the opportunity had still been there but they may have just successfully squashed it. But was this good for Archer? Aurors were very adamant about the separation of private life from work. What happened off the clock was entirely different than what happened while on it. If any sort of connection between them was going to work, they would have to understand that. But they had been functioning with that barrier for thirteen years, so she doubted her technical position was his boss would be too strong of an issue.

But it was not the Auror she was worried about, it was the man. Archer was full of life and had a lot of offer. Was connecting him to her, a woman with her fair share of emotion problems, healthy? Then she smiled down at him, the corners of his lips arching backwards and the creases on either side of his eyes wrinkling in a familiar way, revealing the crow’s feet he was so self conscious of. Doubts faded and despite herself, she smiled back, flashing her teeth and shaking her head.

There should have been awkwardness between them. But she could not bring herself to feel it. Quidditch? One of her eyebrows arched up at him. If she thought she could manage it, she might have raised a hand to his forehead in felt for his temperature in jest. “A Puddlemere game?” She asked him, already knowing the answer. It had been one of the resent matches. She feinted an indifferent shrug. “They were not playing the Magpies. No real loss there, then.”

That was bound to get a reaction.

“I fell behind on paperwork,” she admitted as well. Her work ethic was too strong to fall behind by much, but the fact that Tamis Raynor had fallen behind at all and the world was not ending, well, that was significant at least.

Archer quite liked the arrangement present right now.  He was the one in the chair, with the good-looking woman on his lap – even if it wasn’t his desk or his chair.  This arrangement would have failed miserably if they were at his desk, but for the moment, that did not really matter.  He loosened his grip on her just a tad when he realized she was not going to be leaving and shifted so that they would indeed both be comfortable in the cushioned seat.  He couldn’t remember actually having enjoyed something like this in so long. 

His last venture into the world of physical contact had not ended so well – at least for him, and he couldn’t help but speed up every day he walked into the ministry, hoping to avoid her at all costs.  Vespucciano had baited him though; he realized and at the end, paid the price for it.  Now, he was actually enjoying himself and let the anxiety drain from his body.  He relaxed in the chair and smiled easily, content to just sit.  He didn’t have to worry about racing hearts and unsure sentences at the moment – well, he did, but he didn’t have to worry about them being the end-all. 

Of course, it created something of a difficult situation in the workplace.  There were plenty of law enforcement agents who found solace and companionship with others in the field, but they generally shared the same tier in the force.  The idea that she was his superior did not particularly bother him (since he could never actually view her in that light except when she was delegating mountains of paperwork), but it would ruffle the feathers of others in the office.  He’d be even more careful to avoid taking promotions now – or accolades of any kind.

Archer was never one to accept anything anyway, unless forced.  He really felt like he was here to be an auror and he didn’t need any fancy patches, badges, or titles to separate him from the rest of the corps.  Now he was possibly entangling himself in an awkward place of having to accept or decline always, depending on the situation.  But, it was a risk he was willing to take.  He hadn’t put in the work to give up the result now. 

The only thing lost, at this point, was the Puddlemere v Kenmare game he had declined tickets to.  Raising his eyebrows, he started to roll his dark eyes when she talked about the magpies.  “Really, Ray? You’re going to give me that now?  The magpies are shite this year.  I might have given them credit when they had Neilson, but now… they’ve got nothing, Ray.  You might as well admit it now or you’re in for a season of great disappointment.”  Quidditch was one of the few things that Archer Radley could talk at length about.  He usually avoided long conversations, mostly based on the fact he never had much to say, but Quidditch was one of those things.

Not only that, but he really had to correct anyone who didn’t think Puddlemere was the best team in the world.  They were just completely mistaken.  She was the worst – he knew she was intelligent and refused to see the light.  It was like denying the principles of potions – ridiculous. 

Even more ridiculous was her loss of time on paperwork, and Archer’s grin widened.  “Weeeeell… now!  The paper train has taken an impromptu stop.  Does this mean I don’t need to have my weekly log done by tomorrow…?”