8:00 PM

Never ask if a situation could possibly become worse.

Chances were it not only could but would.

The day had finally waned into night and the heavily curtained windows of Tamis Raynor’s flat, which had been open to let in the day’s light, were now tightly closed to keep out the muggle world’s artificial nocturnal glow. Yet all too soon the sun would peek back over the horizon and another exceedingly stressful work shift at the Ministry would begin. It was incomprehensible that it had only been four days since Gawain Robards had been assassinated. Four days. It might as well have been four hundred.

A roaring fireplace and an intricate candle chandelier served as the flat’s main light source with an oil lamp was strategically placed periodically to banish most of the shadows from the large multi-purpose room. The windows, while severely curtained, were left open to allow the occasional brisk October breeze combat the heat given off from the flame sources – a courtesy for her warmer blooded guest. One would think they had stepped into a sixteenth century cottage rather than a twenty-first century apartment complex. Tamis held little love for muggle technology.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had not been in such disarray since You-Know-Who had risen to power the second time. Alexander Belisario’s disappearance had been different. The loss of power had been more gradual, not as… abrupt. And it had not come with the frightening psychosomatic factors. People were scared. The attack had come from within, in the heart of Level Two, from one of their own. And now they knew that they were facing an organized threat against the government. A threat daring enough to murder perhaps the second most important figure in the Ministry of Magic to the Minister himself. The blow could have been crippling psychologically to not only the employees but the Wizarding Community at large.

There was only so much a person could do.

Attempting to keep panic from reaching the masses… keep the moral up in the office…  help where she could to prevent administrational collapse… and do her own job. To polish it off, files were still trickling in from the Department of Mysteries in the absence of their own Head. Material Tamis did not understand nor did she want to.

She needed a break.

Something rustled off to her left but Tamis did not stir from the kitchen table. Most assuredly either Archer Radley or the infamous house elf Squeak. Archer, the house guest, had been a permanent fixture in the flat since the first – since he had been assigned as a ‘security’ detail. Rubbish is what it was. Aurors did not need Auror protection. It was an oxymoron. And she would have preferred him on the Minister’s Detail. But he had made a good point – she would not have let anyone else into her home. It was not that she did not like spending time with him, quite the contrary. It was just… His intentions were honorable, even heroic, but the perimeter checks and defense precautions on a twenty four hour basis, even in the confines of her home were becoming frustrating.

Really, no one could blame her for slipping a few… harmless… sedatives covertly into her pot of tea.

The petite woman sat lazily, swirling a finger through the steam of the half finished cup on the wooden surface. The palm of her other hand was pressed into her right cheek, as her elbow attached to said arm supported the deadweight of her head. Her hair had a recently washed quality to it and the still prevalent reek of shampoo clinging to the drying locks suggested she had taken a shower not many hours ago. While she was fully dressed, a pair of bunny slippers clad each foot; their black beady eyes sparkling with the gleam from the chandelier. It was a secret she had threatened Archer with within a millimeter of his life.

How many cups had she had now? She had lost count.

The world was in a pleasant little haze and getting hazier as the effects of the tea set in. For the first time in day, all of her nerves were at rest and her breathing was deep and heavy.

Merlin, she could have even hummed a little tune. Perhaps even was.

Squeak was not a happy house elf.  He never really suspected she would be happy with him in any complete sense.  She tolerated him, which was probably better than he thought in the beginning, but he could tell those bug-eyes regarded him with suspicion and animosity.  He didn’t think he was imagining it, but… he couldn’t afford to have her hate him.  He had to be around far too often for that to be a part of his life. 

The stress of recent events, particularly because of the proximity to everyone on Level 2, and the ministry at large, was overwhelming.  She was dealing with far more on her plate than he could have handled and though he tried to help her as much as he could, it seemed the dents in the paperwork they made on evening were only overfilled the next morning without any effort.  Normally, it would be a non-issue, doing it, but now there was a certain stigma about it – not to mention the Department of Mysteries loading her as well.  Did they have no other options?    And it became their only option for Archer to be on guard, and with that elf. 

Squeak became part of this equation, and other than the initial greetings and things, the elf generally stayed far away from them – unless he asked her to sit with Ray, especially when he had to run a detail.  It was somewhat relieving for him that she wasn’t going to be watched at every second… but… she was a sneaky thing and he had to watch his back, just in case.  His main concern, however, was Ray’s safety. If it were anyone else in the spot he was currently occupying (outside of the jealousy), he was sure they would not do a good enough job, and then he would have to berate them for their inabilities when it was too late.  At least he could seriously do this job without much trouble and knew her habits and tricks well enough that she could not evade him. 

There was some speculation she might try to escape and indeed, her frustration with his constant checks over the doors and windows, the hallway patrols and the use of several magic devices in the muggle arena were of concern, but it had to be done.  He’d face the punishment when it happened if it did, and it was all for the right reasons, as least.  So, as soon as he retracted the extendable ear from the crack in the door (satisfied he heard nothing of concern in the hall, he put his wand back in the holster at his side, walking back toward the kitchen where she deposited herself.

She had been working on a pot of tea for herself and far be it from him to pull her away from it – she might actually bite his head off, and he reentered the kitchen.  “All clear for now,” he declared as he entered the threshold, the house elf zooming out almost faster than he could see, and Archer started to roll his eyes.  Mid-roll, he thought he heard something and halted, his ears perking up at the odd sound.  It was… well… it was almost melodic!  What?  Turning his head, he slowly moved to get his wand, glancing around the kitchen and then spotted Ray, she did not look herself.

Her body was completely relaxed, she looked lethargic and her eyes were a little droopy, but she had an unmistakable glow of comfortable contentedness.  Her lips were pressed together, but appeared to be vibrating – she was humming.  This was not what he expected at all, no… What was odd was she had only drank tea.  What on Earth could be producing this? 

“You look tired, Ray,” he prompted carefully, wondering what she would say in response.  He took a seat at the table with her, just to be on eye level – one eye appeared to be more shut than the other.  It was not… the most alert look for her, though he had to admit, the slippers were a nice touch.  “Have you considered getting any rest?”

One bunny slipper was now tapping idly to whatever tune she was humming, its ears flopping against the tiled floor.  Lost in an aimless train of thought, Tamis had been studying the gold edged brim of her cup. It had several scratches and blemishes marring the surface and she had discovered a hairline crack in the handle. She tried to remember how long she had owned the apparently battered cup with little avail. Regardless, it appeared that she might need to buy a new one soon. The realization saddened her. It happened to be one of her favorite pieces of china.

Her finger had trailed half-way through another arch along the edged-surface when Squeak, muttering incoherently under her breath, darted out of the room. There could only be one explanation for that. Shifting her head against the hand holding it up, she looked up as Archer Radley entered the small kitchen. Whatever had passed between the house elf and her … what was Archer exactly? … had not improved over the last handful of days. She had resolved not to interfere in it and currently could not stir enough motivation to be anything more than passively curious.

With an unadulterated lack of concern, her gaze followed him as he took a seat next to hers – the only other chair at the table, actually. Tamis had lived alone for a very long time and her single-bedroom flat was not equipped for entertaining company. Therefore, the table was small and the chairs low enough so that her feet could touch the floor.  She was not prepared for accommodating for giants either. He was too big for her couch and her armchairs apparently lacked a certain standard, so they had resolved his sleeping quarters to her bedroom floor. More than once she had considered offering to share the bed, but since it was not an offer she would have made to any other Auror, she had deemed it inappropriate as he was, technically, here professionally.

Silently studying his features, she took in the details she normally did not give much heed. After all, she had worked with him for more than thirteen years and been acquainted with him since she was thirteen – the corners of her lips twitch in a half laugh -- that was rather ironic, really.  One would hope she would know what he looked like. So she concentrated on the small things; the shape of his nose, the crow’s feet in the crooks of his eyes he was so self-conscious about… the way his eyebrows were knitting together. Hmm. That last one was not commonplace. He was concerned. Something must have happened.

His tone was cautious and rich with a deep undertone. It took her a moment to distinguish the words from it.

“Sleep? No. It is too early for bed.” Far too early. She had made sure to concoct the brew so that it would not immediately function as a sleep-inducer. She wanted to soothe her emotions for a few hours, not provoke unconsciousness. A bit of hair had fallen loose when she had shifted to acknowledge him, but it was not bothersome enough to fix. Speaking of hair, she could just see the faint shadow of stubble beginning to appear on his chin. She reached out to touch it, frowning. “You need to shave.”

He noticed her eyes were moving more slowly than usual.  Glancing down at the china in front of her, Archer raised his eyebrows.  He wished to sniff it, see if he could identify anything in it – if he could remember that part of training, though had a hard time believing that Ray would drug herself.  She didn’t seem like the type to want to lose control, especially voluntarily.  Every time he had ever offered to take her out for a drink after work, as partners or whatever, she always declined.  She did not drink, she assured him, and so he could not figure what on Earth was going on.  

Her symptoms were not all those typical to an inebriated person.  She seemed more tired – quiet, thoughtful – all of the adjectives that could not describe any part of their lives since the first.  It was curious and Archer suspected something was going on.  He could not prove it, but perhaps, under the right circumstances, he could get her to explain what she had done to herself and for what purpose.  If he had to bring her to Mungo’s for some kind of detoxification it would be all over the Prophet in five minutes. He could just see it: Head Auror Cracks Under Pressure, Caught With Substances, or something of the like.  

When he sat in the chair near her, he noted that everything in this apartment fit more like a set of dollhouse furniture than that for a regular sized human.  He could practically feel his knees on his chest, which he remedied by sticking his legs out under the table.  His foot bumped against her’s and he sighed, his back hurt too.  He couldn’t help but feel extra large and old in this place. He had been sleeping on the floor – when he actually did sleep – and though it was better than her gnome furniture, it was not ideal.  He wouldn’t leave though – he cared about his job too much and taking her to his flat in the middle of the magical world was impractical.  Not only was she an easier target to those that would actually want to attack her, but it would also give her and Joel access to one another.

The last time that happened was in Hogwarts and as far as Archer was aware, they did not have a good relationship with one another.  The woman tortured his brothers – not quite sure why to this day – neither of them would every truly be fully over it.  Joel still had a hard time accepting that she and Archer were something of a couple, if that word could be used.  They were certainly spending enough time together to prove it.  Though, he noted, it was a professional arrangement for the time being.  He could not wait until things took a turn for the less professional.  

“Your body doesn’t appear to think it’s too early,” he motioned to her posture – unusually slumped, and the hair in front of her face that she would normally, in a fit of obsessive-compulsive action, brush away from her face, but she left hanging.  They were all indications of lethargy and was about to go on about the physical symptoms of sleep deprivation as well as the mental ones when she reached over and touched his face.  It was like a bolt of electricity passed through him and he glared scornfully at the cup of tea for a moment.  He put his hand over her’s and felt his face with the tips of his fingers – he was a bit stubbly.

“I’ll do it after you go to bed,” he assured her.  The bathroom was connected to her room so he could watch her while he shaved and then he wouldn’t look something like one of the criminals they pulled off the street on a daily basis.  “Thank you for noticing though,” he chuckled softly, taking her hand down from his cheek and giving it a squeeze.  “Hey Ray,” he looked at the cup, and pointed to it with his other hand, “What is in that cup?”

The contents of the cup, appeared, upon initial inspection, to be nothing more than a thick and murky tea. Since the woman tended to favor both traditional and exotic flavors, this was truly nothing outside of the norm. Yet, quite abnormally, there was an absence of steam from the cup and, if touched, one would find it cool – room temperature at best. It had a strong aromatic, earthy odor that, while unique, did not seem impossible for a tea-like beverage. The taste however, was very potent.

She should not have had more than one cup. She was going to sleep very, very well tonight. Merlin forbid an emergency did not call them into the Office tonight, she would not be very productive.

Firewhiskey… Beer… they created an intoxication of no medicinal value and turned men into fools – women not excluded. 

When he negated her argument about the time, her frown deepened. Was he really going to insist that she go to bed? She needed to prove that she was not fatigued.  Lifting her head, she let the arm supporting it slip back against the smooth surface of the table. Determined, she stubbornly sat upright in her chair and lifted her shoulders. The accomplishment was brief. After a moment her shoulders sagged and she plopped against the back of the chair.

“Muscle relaxant,” she explained one of the obvious side effects.

One of his hands fitted overtop hers as he conducted his own investigation on the state of his face. The skin he connected with did not precisely tingle, but it felt… nice. His fingers squeezed hers as he retracted them from his cheek and brought their hands back to table-level.

“You are welcome,” she replied amused and bemused at the same time. It seemed rather silly that he should have to wait until she was in bed to attend to something so mundane, but she did not argue. After all, had this been her assignment she would have approached it with the same caution. She just did not like being on the receiving end.

When he pointed to cup, her eyes followed not sure if she should answer it or not.  She was not left debating for longer.

Two large pointed ears poked around from the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, followed by a pair oversized eyes and a long, earthen-toned nose. The house-elf eyed the intertwined hands for a long suspicious moment. Ears wilting, Squeak decided to stop eavesdropping and padded back into the kitchen. Sir did seem sincerely concerned, after all.

“It’s the murky water from the icebox,” Squeak sniffed. “Mistress added the strange root in the little bag on the counter to it. Mistress has done it before. She gets better in the morning.” Just not in a very long time. Crossing her knobby little arms, the elf’s pointed nose jutted into the air. “Sir can thank Squeak now.”

Tamis was not sure if she should be thanking the house elf or dubbing her a traitor.

“Muscle relaxant?” he echoed as she slumped in the chair once again.  He was now only more concerned than he had been and Archer sighed.  The beverage looked like something she might drink – Archer didn’t touch anything that wasn’t coffee, beer, hard liquor, or water for the most part – so he didn’t have any interest in what she was drinking beyond its effect on her body and cognition.  He wouldn’t have advised her doing anything that could interfere with her reflex time and ability to think and process with such a serious threat above her head.
 
Normally he would not have cared so much, especially about something they could not prove or immediately point out as foul play, but this was a case of deliberate planning and patience.  He wasn’t taking chances with her and refused to take up anything that could impair his senses.  He only slept as long as he needed to make sure he wasn’t exhausted and could function.  It was important, given the skill and… persistence of whoever was executing these threats – he didn’t intend on taking chances.

Clearly, Ray hadn’t thought about that – but maybe she figured she had the free pass.  She was stressed, after all, far more than he could fathom – and was the one under surveillance.  If it was him, he wouldn’t know what he would do, so he couldn’t judge.  He just wanted to know what she was drinking, just in case.   Thought he figured it was tea, Ray’s slowness upon answering – downright silence, actually – was disconcerting. 

Fortunately, the little green-brown elf that Archer did not typically get along with was going to rat on her mistress.  Well, that was fine by Archer and he raised his eyebrows, eyes travelling to the oak icebox in the corner near the counter.  Murky water and root in a bag.  He would have been even more thankful if the elf didn’t insist that he thank her.  He wasn’t going to avoid it though, and stood up from the table, regarding the slightly slumped figure sympathetically, she was really out of her element. 

Moving toward the counter, Archer nodded to Squeak.  “Thank you, Squeak.  That helped,” and opened the latch on the ice box, opening it to see a container with said murky water marked kava kava – a sedative like herb, if he remembered correctly, and sighed.  Now, for the root.  He could only think of a handful of things right off the bat and turned to the counter.  Indeed, there was a small bag filled with shavings that looked to be about the color of Squeak, actually.  He frowned and lifted it, opening the pouch and taking a quick sniff, sticking his index finger and thumb inside, feeling the texture between his fingers.  He took one small piece out and put it on his tongue.  He winced at the taste – valerian. 

She had certainly made herself quite the concoction.  It was more than a muscle relaxant, and Archer closed up the little packet, opening up one of the cabinets to put it far out of her reach, and cleaned off the counter top with a rag quickly before turning to look back at her.  He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms across his chest, regarding her with an amused, albeit concerned look, “You should have asked me before you decided to play healer by yourself – I might have wanted to join in,” he teased, starting to grin – she wasn’t even in a state to understand the joke.

"How much have you had?"

“Squeak did not speak to help Sir,” the little house elf sniffed, watching as the very large man rummaged through the ice box and inspected the bag on the counter. “But Sir is welcome.”  House elves were not often thanked. Most of the time they did not want nor need to be. A house elf served its family with pride and gratitude was an insult that said service would not be always expected. But Sir was not Squeak’s family.

The elf’s very large green eyes were not the only one fixed on Archer Radley. The infamous gray ones of her Mistress were also locked on the man, even if they lacked their usual intensity. Silence seemed to be working for her, so she maintained it as he investigated the two substances, shaking his head as he began to draw conclusions. Valerian she expected he would recognize. His wince was not very informative but he did not seem surprised by the flavor. One tended to either like it or hate it; there was very little middle ground. Kava she did not expect him to be familiar with, it was rather remote. Yet, he did not ask.

Raynor could typically handle vast amounts of stress. One could not deal with being an Auror if they could not. Coming home was usually her escape. But yet, even here she was being watched like a hawk. It was as if he expected someone to be lying in wait under her bed every night – so far, ever night he had checked. While she knew the man doing the watching – she did not want to ‘loose it’ in front of him. Tulojow had encouraged her to talk about her feelings, if not with the healer herself, then someone she could trust. But Archer was not her emotional trash can, either. She had put the man through enough of that. Yet, he was always there. Which had tried her in a number of ways. She had to deal with the stress somehow and at the time it had seemed like a good alternative.

It had not occurred to her at the time that her slowed reflexes might make his job harder if for some ridiculous reason this organization was targeting the entire Law Enforcement chain of command and had not simply been making a very loud statement. And if they had someone figured out where she lived when, as such, only two men did – and she trusted both of them with her life. So, it might not have been the best idea after all. Tamis Raynor was only human and could make mistakes. Even she tended to forget that sometimes.

Once he had finished disposing of the evidence (something she should have done), the burly man turned around and crossed his arms, giving her a considering look. It made her feel petulant and a measure of shame and it was very, very hard to make Tamis Raynor feel ashamed of anything she did; right or wrong. She expected criticism or even scorn; she did expect the teasing banter or the wide grin that would have thawed Scotland in the dead of winter.

He would have wanted to join in? She somehow did not think so. Archer Radley was too dedicated to his career to drink while on shift. And, he was technically on duty.

“I doubt you would like the taste,” she replied honesty.

Squeak, who look like she had sucked on a basket full of lemons rolled her eyes in disgust and slapped herself in the forehead with a long fingered hand. Sending one last disapproving glare at Archer, the house elf stalked back out of the kitchen, little fists clinched at her side and muttering something about “crude-ness” and “inappropriate half blood behavior.” Clearly the elf had understood something Tamis had not.

How much? She tried to think. Might as well be honest.

“Three,” she replied, somewhat sheepishly, watching him warily.

It could have been worse. Neither herb was addictive and the effects were temporary and both had medicinal properties. Having formal training at St. Mungos as an herbalist, she had known what she was doing, which also helped – even if she had a little too much. She would sleep it off. Both were excellent for insomnia. It could have been Belladonna, Nightshade. She was not nearly neither that desperate nor that foolish.

Archer did not expect Squeak to suddenly open up and be cordial to him despite the fact he showed unwavering dedication to Ray and took great pains to ensure her safety at every turn, even involving the elf and dare he say it – even thanking her for her assistance when it was offered and needed.  She was not an easy thing to live with and because he was not family or something of the sort, he supposed she did not find him to be a reliable or trustworthy until – well, Archer did not know when that would be.  He assumed it would probably not be in his lifetime and dismissed the possibility – he had more important things to worry about at the moment, namely the woman at the table.

Her grey eyes were, thankfully, not dull like he expected, merely muted from their normal intensity and fervor.  She almost appeared as though she were a lay citizen.  There was always something that distinguished law enforcement from the crowd and Archer was a prime example, it was almost impossible for him to go undercover, one because of his size and two because of his demeanor.  If they were doing a cover job, he was typically on standby, waiting to lead the reinforcements, leave the other stuff to the less distinguishable and less recognizable as authority. 

He didn’t want to feel like an authority in this place, so to see Ray looking like a woman who could be anybody – his stomach tightened uncomfortably.  She was his partner, a comrade in arms and someone he had come to recognize as an ally who would understand almost everything he had to deal with (notable exceptions he handled with other company).  But, for the most part, their partnership had been filled with many odd and interesting cases, seen together – right now, he was the one working, she was just being a citizen.  A citizen who needed protecting. 

The thought process was too heavy for the man though.  His job was weighing on him – he could feel it in his shoulders and his back, and that part was definitely not from having slept on the floor.  There was a good amount of worry.  He had finally resolved he was getting something of what he needed and it was threatened already.  So was the life of an auror, he supposed, but it was not always pleasant.  He tried to make it as light and happy as it could be – Squeak did not seem to appreciate it, Ray did not understand it. 

“I doubt you would like the taste.”

It took all of Archer’s resolve to avoid dying of laughter.  His face contorted slightly and he raised one hand to his mouth to cover as he coughed into it, raising it to his forehead and then running it over the crown of his head, brown hair swooshing through his fingers.  He just could not even believe she had said that.  He didn’t even know what to say in return.  Her naivety under the influence, that little hint of innocence, he found it strangely appealing. 

What wasn’t appealing was the fact that she had taken three drinks of whatever she had concocted and decided that was alright.  Again, he wasn’t going to give her a lecture on it, but he would prefer she moved away from the cup, didn’t drink anything else, and relaxed a little.  She would have no problem with the last part, but the first two – those were the questionable ones.  Pushing himself away from the counter as he nodded, Archer walked behind her chair and put his large hands on her small shoulders, gently, of course, and leaned his chin against the top of her head.  “Well, since you’re clearly fully hydrated, I’m going to take this,” he reached around and took the teacup, “and put it on the counter.  While I do that, perhaps you could go to the living room?  You can turn on the wireless or something – there might be highlights from the game on.”

He started to step away slowly, teacup in hand.  No quick movements and the gentle removal of the substance.  He felt like he was in training again - only this time it was a far cry from the simulation of a billywig venom junkie and he had a lot more to lose - the floor would look nice compared to the flobberworm house he'd be sleeping in for the next few weeks if he didn't handle this right.

Yes, the house elf had definitely understood something that she had not. Tamis would have to remember to ask her later what she had missed, as clearly, Archer was too busy remembering how to breathe to explain. If she could remember to ask, that is. ‘If’ was a great factor.

The bridge between his eyebrows was knitting again, but this time she did not think it was in was in bewilderment. She had not meant to be amusing but he had found her so. Either that or she had unknowingly cast a coughing hex on him. Something told her he had no intention of explaining either way. And Tamis could not currently rouse the effort to care extensively enough to persist.

When he sobered, she grew curious again. He was wearing that expression again. The one where he had come to a decision about something and was not quite sure what the results were going to be. The last time he had been that daring, she had found herself being quite thoroughly kissed. Not a negative experience, but she mustered what little concern the Kava had left her and clung to it – just in case.

The weight of his hands fell on her shoulders and the pointy prominence of his chin rested on her still slightly damp hair. Very aware of the three points of contact, Tamis convinced herself that it probably would be in her best interest to let that breath she took back out eventually. She exhaled slowly and then took another needed increment of air.

This felt… nice. With her worries muted, Tamis Raynor was simply that; Tamis Raynor. Not the intimating Head Auror with the hardened unreadable persona. Not the woman who was always in charge because she had to be. Not the woman that held everyone at a distance as that was the only way she knew how to deal with the stresses in her life. Not the witch so determined to find meaning in her life that she took responsibility for everything, even the burdens that she did not have to.

Right now, she was not the one in authority. She did not have to be the one in charge and, off duty, she technically could not be. She was simply a regular woman in the arms of a man that was protecting her – and who was not so subtly extracting the teacup from the table. If she had two cups less, she might have protested. As it were, she numbly felt him step away, truly only disappointed in the separation.

The wireless? That might actually not be that bad of an idea. He had not lectured or reprimanded her for her beverage choice and it did not seem like he was going to. He was being fair. She most certainly was hydrated. The only problem would be actually making it to the living room.

The sedative properties might lessen anxiety and insomnia, but they could not rectify the stubbornness that was innately a part of her personality. So, when he stepped away, she planted her hands on the table and tried to recall how to stand. Hmm, perhaps that Kava had been stronger than she thought. She managed to make it into a wobbly standing position. And, to her credit, she even made it a couple of steps away from the table.

It seemed the muscles in her legs were not willing to go much further than that, though. The next attempted step ended up with her flat on her rump. With her external stimuli diluted she barely felt the impact and blinked in confusion when she realized the living room was not getting any closer. And then, when the realization set in, she did something that only a handful of people had ever witnessed – in fact, she could count them all one had.

There, in the middle of her kitchen floor, Tamis Raynor sat and laughed at her own expense. “I think,” she finally admitted, “that I had too much.” She patted the patch of tile next to her, somehow managing to summon humor. “Since you are becoming accustomed to the floor?”

He was pleased that she did not grab his hand or bite him or any of the horrible things he imagined could have happened if she were far more attached to the tea cup, but he was able to pull it out from under her and put it on the counter.  When he was sure she wasn’t paying attention, he dumped the liquid down the drain and was happy enough that it wasn’t going to rock the boat too much.  He filled the tiny cup (which looked ridiculous in his bear-paw like hand) with water and rinsed it a few times before leaving it in the sink. 

The assumption had been by the time he was done rinsing the cup she would already be in the other room and the radio would click on without an issue.  Unfortunately, when he turned, this was not the case – oh no, not at all.  She had just gotten up.  Perhaps she was even more out of it than he had assessed.  This was why a career in medicine would never appeal to him.  He was not the kind of person who could assume the way they reacted could be different and watching her wobbling into a standing position, he did not move immediately to help.

Though she had been passive about the teacup, her physical abilities might have been different.  He recalled her persistence to show that she was not tired – the sitting up with the ultimate failure, but questioning her too much could produce a negative result.  It was like interrogating a suspect.  You only pushed so hard, otherwise, they were going to cry lawyer and it was all over.  In this case, she would cry Squeak and that would be the end of it, he’d be relegated to doorman.  At least now they were functioning in something of a comfortable relationship – it’d be the end if he overstepped the boundaries.

Though, when he saw her knees shaking, he thought maybe he should step forward.  The tug in the back of his mind to keep his distance was too strong and he only took a step forward, just as a precaution, but was too slow to actually do anything when her knees basically buckled and she plopped on the ground in an unceremonious heap.  She did not even immediately say anything when she fell.  This could not be good. 

Immediately moving forward, he was ready to lift her up and carry her out to get looked at – but she, in the most matter-of-fact tone he had heard her speak in yet, announced that she had a bit too much, and he paused.  Then, she patted the floor, and even made a joke.  Well, that had a relatively good omen about it.  Deciding to take advantage of the moment, Archer leaned down and lifted her up, “You’re right, I am used to the floor, so I don’t intend to sit on it voluntarily. “ 

He hefted her up easily (she was no more than a hundred pounds soaking wet), and was not put upon to take her into the living room.  Of course, she was a little heavier because she was comprised of some dead weight – muscle relaxant, he reminded himself.  But, he wasn’t going to sit on the floor, not when he had to sleep on it, and the couch looked far more comfortable.  Placing her down on one side, he seated himself on the other, draping one of his arms over the armrest and the other over the back of the chair so he could kitty-corner and face Ray, still looking like she couldn’t believe what was going on – or perhaps just didn’t care.   

“This is better than the floor, yeh?”

It was a night for underappreciated jokes.

Pride was a tricky creature. While ending up sprawled in the center of her kitchen had not been her intentions, now that she was there she was content to remain there. Especially if rectifying the situation would damage the miniscule dignity she had left. It was not particularly uncomfortable but the tile was not very forgiving, either. And Archer had been sleeping on it for three nights now. His back had to hurt like the dickens.

The pain could not be too intense. It was easy to forget just how tall Radley really was, sometimes. One became used to it. Bending down as far as he had to in order to reach the floor was an incredible feat and, no doubt, had required a lot of back muscles. It was mildly confusing as she had not actually expected him to take her up on the offered floor space.

 Then she figured it out.

The protest had not quite made it past her lips by the time he had slipped an arm under her knees and another behind her back. The objection was pointless by the time his long legs had carried them swiftly across the short distance between the Kitchen and the couch in the Living Room. Tamis could not remember the last time she had been carried while conscious (and obviously would not remember being carried while unconscious). It was… a peculiar feeling… one that made her keenly aware of the build of his arms. And, with the way her head was cushioned on his chest, brought back even more vivid memories of the gun range.

The contact surprised her. They had not had much of it since they reached common ground in her office over two weeks ago.

He had chosen to sleep on the floor in her room, on the side nearest the door. The queen sized bed would have been a large enough accommodation for both of them, but he had not shown interest and therefore she had not offered. Technically she was his charge and it would not be appropriate. Yet, was that the source of their problem? Tamis was constantly debating the moralities of what was developing between them. It was an endless struggle of determining when to be professional and when to … not. As a result, they tread on eggshells whenever they were alone together. They were afraid of toeing outside an imaginary line when they did not even know where it was located.

It was a great deal her fault; she rationalized -- always fretting about the effects of a more … intimate… relationship on her standings as Archer’s Auror partner and, more crucially, her dynamic as his boss. The possible intrusion on their work life terrified her so much that she subconsciously distanced herself from him off the job. It was counterproductive. It had been a very long time since she had attempted a relationship. She had not considered that she might have to let him know that it was okay. If he wanted more…

That meant taking a risk.

Well, if it backfired she could always blame the Kava. He did not have to know that effects were neurological and not psychological. Either way, it would not bother her until the herb wore off.

He sat down on the opposite end of the couch and fitted himself into the corner, allowing for eye contact during conversation and gave him a direct view of the door at the end of the hall. Without allowing for thought, she shifted toward him and leaned in to occupy the crevice left between his side and the back of the sofa.  Finally, nodding into his chest and eyes half closed, she answered his question.

“Yes. Much better than the floor.”

Archer had not expected Ray to move.  In fact, he was afraid she might fall off the couch rather than actually make a coordinated effort to put herself in a different way.  He didn’t know what to do with her really; he would have been content to keep her on his lap or something of the sort, whatever the case.  It might have been a good time for it, really, when she wasn’t too busy thinking about everything in the world to realize that he wasn’t the type of person who was going to look at her differently at this point.  There was very little that could do much to his perception of his partner. 

Perhaps if she revealed that she had, at one point, been male – or was actually at the center of the runespoor egg trading ring she pretended to despise and the whole thing had been a clever, long planned ruse to take over the auror office, that would be a different story.  But having her actually act like a woman sometimes and want him near her, that would have been welcome and only increased the good feeling between them.  Though he felt at ease with the decision they made in the office that night, he was not sure Ray really realized what it meant. 

Every time he attempted to get close to her, she made a point to move away… so when she lodged herself comfortably against his side, Archer was frankly surprised.  He was not disappointed in the least and out of natural reaction, took his arm from the back of the couch and draped it around her shoulder and on her back, his hand resting over her spine.  When he pressed even a little, he could feel the muscles and bone.  Sometimes he forgot such a small woman had the capacity to amass muscle. 

He smiled gently at her assessment and looked down, noting the curve of her nose with her almost closed eyes – he had never really noticed how long her eyelashes were.  He could smell the lavender from her hair – it wasn’t even fully dry yet, but he played with the ends that were, down on her back.  This was most assuredly better than the floor, he agreed, and glanced toward the kitchen. 

For a moment he felt like they were being watched, and the quick pattering of feet as he looked in the direction of the offense confirmed his suspicions.  The elf really needed to relax.  He had not given her any reason to worry, really, he was behaving.  He supposed that thing would always be suspicious of him.  Resting his chin on the top of her head like he had in the kitchen before, only now, the crown of her head was in the crook of his neck – rather comfortable really, Archer sighed. 

“If there is something else on your mind, Ray,” he started, his voice was oddly slow, “you can tell me about it.”  He felt odd having to say that, it should have been understood, but at some point, she needed to be hit in the face with information, particularly in relation on how to get along with another human being.  He sighed again, hoping that she would not take that the wrong way.  For once, he was not making light of an aspect of their personal relationship.  It was partially due to the fact he knew she might be more willing to talk now that she was relaxed and comfortable. 

Waiting on baited breath, she felt Archer tense beneath her but then almost immediately relax. An arm came down around her and settled along the ridges of her spine. His fingers moved, teasing the hair there and tickling the back of her shirt against her skin. She finally relented against the downward tug her body was demanding in its wish to forgo its (unknown to her) battle against gravity and settled fully against him. He was bigger. He could take it.

The rhythmic cadence of his heat beat and the slow rise and fall of his chest lured her back into that hazy calm. Instead of simply feeling detached from her surroundings she felt warm, content, and … safe. Not only was she not worried about the troubles that plagued her but she felt that she did not have to be. It was going to be okay. The thought was so strangely … optimistic. She was going to have to pour the rest of that Kava down the sink tomorrow.

Her eyes had grown heavier, as if someone had sticky-charmed weights to each of her eyelids, and her breathing had regulated to match Archer’s when he drew her back to reality. His voice rumbled in his throat against head and she struggled to climb back out of the depths to reconnect with reality long enough to hear the words. Thankfully, he spoke slowly.

Normally, she would have contemplated the hidden question in those words very thoroughly, gone over her thoughts several times in her head silently, and then given him a concise summary of her conclusion. Too much effort.

Cracking her eyes back open, she could just see a small earthen blur scurrying off through her eyelashes. “Besides the threat to the Ministry?” She murmured back with a slight smile, making light of an issue she normally would not have. A long lazy breath escaped against Archer’s neck, bringing some of his scent back with it as she inhaled again. She had not quite been able to describe that smell yet. “You mean about Us.” It was not a question and the definitive way she made the statement left little room for confusion as she purposely emphasized the last word.

“I do not know how to be… affectionate,” she began. “It was not a major factor in my childhood. I have not had much experience with physical displaces of affection and those I have cared about, loved, they always seem to go away.” There was a laundry list of individuals that fit that MO, but she could not bring herself to dwell on those names at the moment. “I had resolved for so long that keeping everyone at a distance was the best solution that… I have forgotten how. I do not always remember that physical contact is necessary. I am willing to try and become better but I do not want you the feel like you are obligated to work through it with me. I… have baggage.” And she knew it.

This was a lot of words at once, for Tamis Raynor, a woman that did not seem to speak any more a couple of sentences at a time unless she was working with – and therefore lecturing – the trainees. Taking a moment to pause, she subconsciously traced small patterns against his torso with the hand she had resting there.

“How do we differentiate between being partners and … what are we?” There. Finally words to that question that had been left unspoken for over a month now. And it had only taken an herbal overdose to ask it. 

“Not work – yes, Us” he replied with a bit of a returned smile.  He did not want to discuss that.  He was here, on duty, of course, but did not want to actually be actively thinking about it more than he had to.  It was quiet now and he did not need to do another building and parameter detail until ten o’clock. The two hours in between every time he made Squeak stay with Ray, he wanted to behave in a somewhat normal but heightened way.  Yes, he wanted to do a good job – he would die doing this job if he had to (part of the territory of accepting a security detail), but he also wanted to use it to his benefit. 

When they were working together, it was understood they did not engage in excess physical contact.  They kept their distance for the sake of professionalism, but at the end of the day, when he was not watching her, she came up with excuses to retreat to her flat without him, or send him home early and not bother to stop by or anything of the sort.  It was likely she purposely balanced what they had come up with, what they had actually both (he thought) enjoyed with the fact that she did not want him to be around her in that capacity.

He had to admit, it was a bit of a blow to his ego.  He had been fairly confident he had knocked her off her feet when he kissed her on the desk, he was certainly moved by the whole experience (in more ways than one), and he couldn’t have been the only one that needed a cold shower after he took her to the shooting range.  It seemed impossible, but perhaps he was solo on this one (no pun intended).  He didn’t expect her to say much on the issue, she was never one for going on about things, but once she started talking – this time, she didn’t stop. 

It was a bit surprising and he had to try to decipher what he was supposed to process first.  Generally, her sentence answers (sometimes two if she was feeling particularly wordy) were not hard to decipher.  But, in her herbal haze, she was willing to speak.  It made him eager to ask more questions, get her to talk more about almost anything he wondered on a daily basis, but he would take things one thing at a time.  It was apparent she was having issues and this was probably the best time for them to get it out in the air.  The opportunity, like this, would probably not come again. 

He couldn’t help but laugh a little at her last line.  “That’s an understatement, Ray,” he concluded with amusement, “thankfully, I’m a big guy and I can handle carrying your baggage and mine,” he teased – figuring that the joke would go over her head at the moment anyway.  Reaching down, he tilted her chin up, so he could look at her – an odd look of worry was written across her features, it was not something he was accustomed to seeing her look like in regards to this.  “Don’t worry about it, I’m persistent.  I’m going to get what we both need – yes, you need it, don’t argue with me - regardless,” he insisted, feeling his stomach jump a little as her hand started to move along his side.  It was like an instant trigger to look at her lips.  All this talk of physical affection… torture. 

And then she asked the worse question.  The question he didn’t exactly know how to answer but was jonesing for an answer to as well.  “Other aurors do it,” he answered truthfully, “the Harcrofts, for instance.”  He didn’t want to use them as an example, but they had the right idea and it appeared to be working well for them.  Still going strong after so many years.  “It’s about drawing a line between professional,” he let his fingers dip from under her chin to her up her jaw and then down her neck, eyeing her lips again – Radley, don’t be stupid, she’s hopped up on some freaky tea – his hand drew down her neck and arm, “and citizen life.” 

“We’re not teenagers, Ray. I have faith we can handle this like adults,” he chuckled softly and brushed his lips against her forehead before leaning back.  He didn’t want to move too much, but he wanted to be comfortable again.  “Any tips on how I can help?”

“Is persistent politically correct for stubborn?” She asked him when he fitted a finger beneath her chin. Her very leaden head shifted upward with great reluctance. It was an interesting vantage point. She, regrettably, had not been this close to him this often and it offered a unique angle. She also had a clear view up his nose, but she was doing her best to ignore that fact.

She needed it? She did not know if anyone truly needed the closeness and comfort of another. Needs comprised of what was strictly necessary for survival. One could survive without it. She had done so for fourteen years – and then six years even before that. It was an entirely possible to exist without it. That craving was a want, a very powerful want, but a want. But being alone had become exhausting enough that she was not willing to dispute such a simple issue as word choice.

That and he gave her other things to concern herself with.

The Harcrofts did not have to struggle with the hurtle that one significant other was technically a superior to the other – whatever one of them may delusion themselves with. She was going to put voice to this when the warm contact under her chin shifted and traced the curvature of her jaw and down an invisible path along her neck, pausing there. The skin tingled in its wake and Tamis caught her breath as a very tangible tension clogged the scant air between them. His fingers continued their path down her arm and the moment passed, successfully taking her will to argue with it. And giving him the victory on the professionalism dilemma.

“That was not fair,” she murmured without much sincerity, letting her head rest back against its rather unconventional pillow.

“Mmhm,” she agreed to his analysis of their ages, finally caving against her heavy eyelids as his lips brushed against her forehead. He shifted, but not enough to bother her. “Tips?” She repeated. Exhaling deeply again, the indistinguishable pattern against his abdomen turned into orderly little circles. “Remind me? Do not be afraid to remind me. Sometimes I just need a … reminder.” A small laugh escaped her lips. “I am apparently very verbose.”