10:00 PM




With the old year waning into the new, the initial blow of the holiday season was over and now the festering could begin.

Festive cheer still clung to London with obstinate resilience and would continue to do so well into January. Fairy lights would still be strung, Christmas trees would become increasing fire hazards, and the ten billion festively constructed ice skating rinks around the city would remain erect. Even in one of Westminster’s most respectable complexes hints of the lingering holidays could still be found. The doorman and security officers were still exuberantly pleasant, their ‘good will to man’ no doubt prolonged by their patrons generous Boxing Day tips still weighing down their pockets.  And there was a wreath still hung isolated behind the reception desk as if the staff was unsure if it was appropriate to take it down yet. Five floors up, room Five Hundred and Seventeen bore none of these residual hints. It was doubtful if they had ever existed.

The small yet amiable flat was as medieval as ever. The fireplace crackled on without any garland decorating its mantle. The candles and chandeliers lit for practicality and luminous purposes only awash the living room in a warm, homey glow rather than a celebratory one. No mistletoe. No holly. No crackers of any sort – muggle or wizarding variety. Everything was exceptionally… normal… in the upscale apartment.

Except for its inhabitant.

Tamis Raynor did not fidget. She did not pace. In fact, the petite autocrat looked as cool and composed as ever as she stood in her living room, arms crossed and still in her militaristic work clothes. One who did not know her well would not have been able to tell, but there were subtle signs indicating her apprehension. Her composure was too well practiced, her gaze just a little too intent as those sharp gray eyes regarded the small black box on the coffee table.

She had not seen Archer Radley outside of the Office since Christmas Day… she had been avoiding the ‘I told you so.’ And she had needed some time to contemplate. Tamis had always known that she and Archer came from different lifestyles, different familiar backgrounds. There had just been – there had been so many people. Purebloods were all related in some fashion but they did not claim those bonds to avoid the level of insanity she had introduced to. It had been overwhelming, exhausting -- and may have even been pleasant if not for Mrs. Radley.

Leola Radley had seemed excited to meet her eldest son’s mystery woman. Unless she found out whom it was. The memory made her temples throb. And darkened her expression. Tamis was still certain the other women had only joined in out of sheer relief that they were not the one being victimized.

It had been a lot to consider. A lot of various encounters from a side of Archer’s life she had never been exposed to. She had needed time to determine if she could ever truly find a place in that part of his life. She believed she had found an answer.

The sound of the doorknob turning and magical recognition locks unlatching interrupted her thoughts. It was the knowledge that only one other person was keyed to get past the protection spells on the flat that stayed her hand from reaching for her wand. It would take quite some time for a woman who lived alone for the majority of her life to get used to another coming and going at will.

She was not the only one not fully adjusted. A short yet crisp… yap? Responded to the sound of the door opening. Just as briefly a small tuff of black fur tried to dart from the darkened secrecy of Raynor’s bedroom and into the well lit living room. The valiant effort was thwarted by a pair of long, green elfin hands that reeled the four legged creature back into the abyss.

Tamis tried not to shake her head as turned to greet her partner with the best smile she could muster.

Going to Tamis' flat was going to be interesting, Archer reasoned as he stuffed some clothes into a bag.  It wasn't atypical for him to be getting ready to go to her place on a Sunday evening, quite the contrary, it had become something of a ritual, switching off flats for the weekdays and weekends, dependent upon where they needed to be and when, but for the past few nights they had not seen one another. 

Christmas day had gone exactly as Archer had expected it to.  His mother was not the easiest woman to impress and when she was introduced to Tamis Raynor as the mystery woman her son was bringing to dinner it became like a quidditch accident - you didn't want to look, but at the same time, you couldn't tear your eyes away.  The woman was still worked up over the girl who had turned her son's hair blue umpteen-thousand years ago, and not the woman who was Archer's partner and best friend. 

It had just been hard and perhaps too much to expose Tamis to at once.  It was hard for her to adjust to such a large group of people with such different views on hospitality and family than she had been accustomed to.  He wanted her to fit in, he wanted his family to like her, but he wasn't sure how much she liked them.  She had seemed quiet the entire evening, spending a bit of time with his father at the pub's bar. 

At least Archer knew his father liked her.  They had a conversation about it, Archer had stopped by to see what damage had been done - his mother wasn't thrilled, but what could he expect?  At least Slyvester Radley was smart enough to see that Ray was a good balance for him and Archer really liked her.  He wouldn't have jumped through so many hoops to try and block his mother's passive aggressive comments and introduce her to as many family members as he thought would actually like her. 

There had been some good effort into that and some were genuinely supportive, but the important person - his mother, had really thrown a wrench into what he wanted.  He knew it would happen, but he wanted to be proven wrong to some degree.  Hefting his bag onto his shoulder Archer sighed, looking around the messy flat.  It definitely deteriorated in appearance when he actually stayed her, particularly by himself, and walking into the living room, he flicked his wand to turn off all the lights and apparated from his flat to the alley next to her building, the whip sound ripping through the air. 

At least next to the building, he could walk to the sidewalk, looking around and make sure that the doorman hadn't been watching him - fully noting that Archer was now a regular in this building, strange for the woman whom he frequently visited.  He was let pass and the large man made his way to the elevators, preferring them to the stairs, though he knew Tamis' preferences, pushing the up button on the lift and waiting for it to creak downward, dinging as it opened and he stepped on.

He had no fears about the strength of the muggle machine, he had used it many times, and as it rose slowly, Archer listened to each ding with each passing floor, finally counting the fifth as the doors slowly opened.  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his copy of the key to her flat, a symbollic and important gesture from the woman and readied himself for going in. Hopefully she would be in a good mood.  The keys jingled in the door and Archer pushed it slowly, poking his head in first, and then letting his body follow as soon as he was sure Tamis was aware it was him. 

"Hey," he said in his deep, resonating voice - keenly aware that she had the fire going - it was already hot in there - and furrowing his eyebrows that she had not changed yet.  It was about ten o'clock at night!  Even he had gotten rid of the office gear and put on comfortable clothes.  "I come at a bad time?" he laughed with a lopsided grin, dropping his bag by the door and out of habit started to take his boots off - Squeak had trained him well, "Or are you just that cold in this hotbox?" 

The door gave way, shifting inward as a head of dark hair poked through the gap, almost brushing the top of the frame. After a moment’s pause, he shouldered the rest of the way through and closed the door behind him. The magical enchantments securing the entrance immediately latched back into place creating an invisible barrier against unwanted entry. The small, tight-lipped smile softened into a more genuine quality. Sneaking up on an Auror was never a brilliant contemplation, even if the person in question was expected. It was one of those small, appreciated details one that shared the same level of paranoia understood.

The smile quickly turned to a frown as the signature lopsided grin claimed his features and both his bag and a boot hit the floor. Somewhere dutifully hidden from sight, Squeak was minutely pleased. Tamis however was being laughed at and she was not yet privy to the joke.

“It is not hot in here,” she replied, entirely serious as the air practically sizzled around her. The man had an internal heat retention that could make the sun envious. Raynor was far more reptilian in nature but had resisted adding another log to the fire and cracked the windows wider in preparation of his arrival.

The furrowed eyebrows and his choice of far more casual attire clued her in. Glancing down at the well tailored, stiffly constructed coat and slacks, and only the toes of her black socks peeking out from beneath the hem deteriorating the image, she began to get an inclination. She grinned back at him sheepishly, detangling her arms to run a hand back through her hair.

“I lost track of the time,” she finally admitted, not quite truthfully.

She had been well aware of the time, just not focused enough on her surroundings to worry about such petty considerations as forsaking office apparel for something more comfortable. That level of distraction had become characteristic of late as she levied much of her attention on the cases Cináed Tawse was a suspect in. Not to mention the finding of Kyle Gibson’s corpse. She was preparing to address the public on that one, not that she was fond of the notion. Now that he mentioned it, it was warm inside the heavy wool coat at least.

Squeak the House Elf scurried into the entryway, gathered up Archer’s discarded overnight bag (and righted his fallen boot while she was at it), gave the two wizardly folks suspicious and critical glances, and then disappeared into the bedroom.

 Ignoring the house elf for the most part, Tamis shook her head and began working on the buttons of her overcoat, revealing the neckline of the long sleeved scarlet top she was fond of. Reptilian indeed; at least according to the rumors that circulated through Level Two.

“Did you have a good weekend?” She asked, a poor attempt at small talk. Tamis Raynor had never been very good with the concept, but in trying to avoid immediately turning the conversation toward their Christmas adventure she had unintentionally directed it that way thought the simple fact she that she had to ask the question at all.

Once his boots were taken off, Archer stood up and stretched out, putting his arms above his head and pulling the muscles in his back, his upper arms, and chest toward the ceiling.  It was a comfortable sort of release to stretch out like that and he laughed softly, as his arms coming down reached for the top button of his shirt, letting it loose and tugging at the collar just a bit to circulate some air around his neck.  He was glad to see one window was cracked open just a bit – by the chair he usually sat in, noticeably.  Small gestures, he reminded himself with a bit of a grin. 

“You should change,” he offered up, “Maybe something more… comfortable,” he raised his eyebrows playfully, trying to rouse a blush out of the woman as well as earning a huff of disapproval from Squeak, who happened to be coming to retrieve his bag, as was typical for her. He looked down and winked at her, earning another huff before she fixed his boot.  Ah, anal retentive house elf. 

Though Archer and the Elf did not see eye to eye (literally and figuratively) on most things, they had a mutual understanding and she apparently did not seem to hate him as much as she used to.  Didn’t mean she approved more of his patterns of speech or intentions most of the time, but hey, who could be innocent one hundred percent of the time?  Surely not Radley.  He would prefer to keep that for the professional world, in his private life, wickedness was fairly standard – it separated out the good and the bad. 

When she did start to remove her coat, Archer smiled and easily strode across the short expanse from the front door to the space in front of the fire where she had been standing, he figured staring down the flames in thought – like one of the illustrations in the Prophet, the intrepid hero loner, lamenting her situation and confounded over what she was going to do next.  He felt his smile waver a bit as she asked about the weekend, almost having forgotten that they did not spend it with one another, in fact he had been eating pizza with his brother in the living room all weekend and drinking beer without his girlfriend.

The thought was slightly less pleasant than what he could have been doing had Christmas not ruined things, but he figured he’d test the waters now and walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her as he bent down a considerable amount for comfort, craning his neck around the side of her face, nudging her hair out of the way with his chin before placing a kiss under her ear and moving more toward her cheek with the few more he managed to sneak in.  “Quiet,” was the honest answer, “what about yours?”

It became immediately obvious how long a weekend actually was when no time was spent together outside of the office.  He didn’t generally look at her the same way inside the office that he did outside, and he heaved a contented sigh as he continued to stand behind her, unsurprised that it was so warm over here, but not too eager to move away immediately either. 

One of the various benefits of low, natural lighting? It obscured facial pigmentation. The warmth of the fireplace made it possibly to pretend that the heat in her cheeks was from external stimuli. The comments were typical Archer and she had over a decade to become desensitized. The difference between then and now? Ten years ago he had not meant them.

One of her eyebrows rose to mimic his from across the room, peering down the foyer. She could clearly define his facial features as much as feel them. “More comfortable for whom?” she challenged, smirking again as she felt some of the weight of the day – from the week – ease from her shoulders.

It had not helped that the day before the Holiday escapade to Piddlehinton she had observed Hannah Bombay determine the cause of death for Kyle Gibson. The petty snubs from Archer’s mother had seemed so, well, petty in comparison. It had been difficult. Tamis Raynor was not gifted with social grace, she could not laugh and smile and win a host’s favor with impeccable charisma. She certainly never pretended to be anyone other than she was, and that person had not been good enough for Leola Radley. Tamis did not care bloody hell what the woman thought, but she was Archer’s mother.

Working on the second silver button, she kept her eyes trained on the fragile construction as she slid it through the eyelet, and listed to the much more optimistic crackle of the fireplace. A shadow descended upon her and she glanced up just as Archer’s strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her close so that her back pressed up against his chest. It was the same predicament that had started the rockslide in their relationship, except this time there were not any firearms involved. She almost asked him how the gun range’s receptionist was doing.

Her smirk widened into a grin as, on par with the reminisced memory, his chin nudged against her clavicle, but unlike before brushed a trail of kisses from her ear to her cheek. Tamis Raynor certainly was incapable of giggling or she might have, rationalizing that the feat must have been easier when she had been standing on a stool. Fingers pausing on the second to last button of the coat, she turned her head to return a kiss.

“Hello to you, too,” she offered, defeating the last two buttons. Their close proximity and his seemingly unwillingness to change that hindered any further progress in removing the coat. So she grasped one of his hands in turn and fitted them on either lapel so that she could shrug out of it. Turning around, she collected the garment, tilting her head up and to the side so that she could consult him.

“Filled with paperwork,” she replied just as honestly, looking a little less militant now in her black socks, slacks, and undistinguished red shirt.

It was good enough for Archer to see a smirk crawling onto her face, that dry humor surfacing as it usually did when she was in a decent mood.  He knew the past week had not been an easy one, he was painfiully aware of the fact, particularly on Christmas Day, which had been completely unfairly compromised by recent discoveries of that body.  It was going to be trying in the upcoming weeks – the press conference scheduled, everything sort of falling into place – Archer wasn’t looking forward to it.

So, seeing Tamis smirk and joke with him outside of the office was at least a sign she wasn’t letting it completely consume her life, as he was sure she did when he wasn’t around.  “Both of us,” he answered with a bright grin, hoping to scandalize even more.  He could almost see the glimmer of a blush on her cheeks, but thankfully for her, the light of the fire made him question whether or not he had accomplished his ultimate goal. 

He figured even if he had not at this point, he certainly would by the end of the night, even if the flush was for a completely differnet reason.  The thought triggered that youthful grin, the kind a young man had when he thought of the magazines he had hidden under his mattress.  Archer could not help it – it had been four days since they had been together, and certainly, on Christmas Day, conditions had not been… ideal either.  No, he had missed her around for those days, and seeing her unbuttoning her jacket and feeling his arms around her – well, he was a man after all.

Shfiting a little as she started to turn, Archer let her take his hands and turn, fitting it so she could easily let the jacket drop and Archer’s grin widened further.  Sometimes, in the oddest ways possible, she made him feel like that eighteen year old kid he had been with his first serious girlfriend during the academy.  Clearly, his track-record began at that point and this was a happier memory of past indescretions, though, at the moment, he could not recall anything negative – in too good fo a mood. 

It imrpoved even more when he watched her turn to pick up her coat, taking a moment to consider how lucky he was that he picked a partner who cared so much about taking care of her body.  Of course, he cared about taking care of her body too, but he suspected it was not in the same way.  She certainly had a nice bum… drifting into another train of thought, Archer was snapped back into reality when she mentioned paperwork. 

Rolling his eyes, Archer did not want to hear about paperwork.  He was not talking about work tonight.  They both needed a break from working eighteen hour days and having no time to relax from it.  It wasn’t happening for him.  “Goes to show how interesting auror’s lives are outside the cubicle – or fancy office, if you’re that lucky,” he chirped with a deep, resonating laugh.  Putting his hands on her sides – as far down as he could reach – not quite low enough to hit her hips, but not up under her arms either, “Better?” he asked, inclining his head toward the jacket. 

“I mean, it’s definitely better for me,” he added, tugging her by her sides to move toward him, “Don’t feel like I have to call you boss now,” he laughed, leaning down to meet her eye to eye, “Unless you want me to, that is?”

“Our definition of the term is vastly different,” she smirked back. Comfortable for her meant a pair of soft drawstring pants, a frumpy old sweater, and a battered pair of slippers that she had threatened his ability to reproduce with should he ever acknowledge their existence to an outsider. His concept of comfortable involved a lot less… clothes.

Extracting her coat from his hands her gray eyes consultant him carefully as he mentally… drifted. Or rather, conscious thought was replaced with concerns regulated elsewhere from the brain. It was an expression she had become quite familiar with in previous months. Men. They all had the same weakness. She almost reached a hand up to snap as close between in his eyes as she could reach but the mention of paperwork served as a sufficient jolt out of his trance.

“If you are that lucky, the fancy office becomes your life,” she duly pointed out, an expert on such matters. Not that she would consider such positions as a fortune. The woman was very diligent with her job, she would not say she “enjoyed” it, but she was good at it. She almost mentioned that he could have a fancy office, or at the least a fancier cubicle, had he not continuously shirked such opportunities for advancement. Not wanting to reintroduce the elephant-sized problem that their current relationship prevented any future opportunities stayed her tongue; that and his hands.

They fitted onto either side of her ribcage and pulled her closer to him. Always a man for maintaining physical contact, she reminded herself though she could not deny finding comfort in its reestablishment. He was not the only one struck with a youthful vigor; she likewise felt it when he was around. That playful mischievousness long abandoned with her Hogwarts years. That hint of lightheartedness that dimmed the weightiness of the world.

Her hands settled over his, the tips of her fingers tapping a rhythm along the tops of his longer digits. It had taken her a long time not to tense at such simple closeness. Took her even longer to return it. Tamis Raynor was not used to physical contact – most wisely avoided initiating it. Her childhood likewise had not been full of hugs and kisses though the idea of Squeak trying to was both horrifying and amusing at the same time. The simple gestures of human interaction. She was learning, though.

When he leveled his gaze to meet hers, Tamis managed to bite back the smile, but she could not dilute the humor in her eyes. She could she see the twinkling of it reflecting back at her from the depths of his darker ones. She knew where he was going with this though, and that would ruin her plans for the night. Especially if he found out what was hiding in the bedroom sooner than she wanted.

Reaching up, she patted his cheek gently, “Not if I am to keep a straight face when you do so at the Office.”

She ran the hand back through his hair (not something she had a chance to do normally) before settling it back on top of his resting on her torso. “I assume you already ate,” he always did on a Sunday night before coming over. She was sure he gorged on as many pizzas and other high calorie foods as he could before the long haul with her more… green… pantry. “But, Squeak made sure to restock the icebox for you.” Which meant carbonated beverages were once more an option.

“Extremely different,” Archer agreed without any hesitation.  She would have liked to be in some frumpy sweatshirt with fuzzy slippers – that, though they brought a smile to his face, Archer could not help but realize that it wasn’t exactly the type of smile that fit in with the general scheme of things he had planned out for this evening.  If she wasn’t going to try and have a long, drawn out conversation about what happened on Christmas and why and what they could do about it – he really hoped she would not pick this particular time to start having a conversation about it. 

He was lucky enough that she preferred to talk about work – not exactly the topic he wanted to discuss either, but at least it was better than his mum.  “I’ll leave that responsibility to you,” Archer’s husky laugh traveled up from his deep chest, and he dismissed the topic with the slight tug of her body toward his.  He didn’t want to deal with promotions and all that nonsense.  He didn’t believe in it – he was an auror, he didn’t want to lay claim to more paperwork because he felt like he had served enough time.  Decorations didn’t appeal to him, he didn’t want that.  He wanted his job and the relative anonymity that allowed him to still be a hero and go home at the end of the day knowing he’s a regular person. 

Some people couldn’t deal with that – he knew a few  in the office who wanted their silly decorated robes and things, but he was a simple guy.  He wanted normal things, not fame.  That made things hard – it made doing things with people hard, hell, even being with Tamis was a trick because she was practically Daily Prophet fodder at this point.  Didn’t pay to mention it though, they’d get into some kind of argument about the want for decoration versus the need of recognition or something; it would just end up being ridiculous. 

He was happy enough to stay in the position he was in, especially if it allowed him to go eye-to-eye with Tamis and tease her like he loved to do.  “You’re no fun,” he replied amusedly, giving her sides another squeeze and leaning forward to kiss her briefly.  “I might like seeing you blush in the office once in a while,” he winked after reluctantly pulling away.  If he didn’t stop himself now, he probably wouldn’t have been able to and if she said no that was going to be a problem.  Let her pretend she had control of the situation. 

She thought she had him fooled, but Archer knew she liked the same things just as much as he did.  She was just… less stated about it.  He preferred to avoid the subtle when it came to the things he liked.  It was always best to let the important people in on what you liked – or you wouldn’t get more of it.  And that was certainly not an option. 

Groaning slightly as she ran her hand through his hair, Archer could not help but enjoy the effort she was putting in – and he really loved the gentle scrape of her fingernails against his scalp.  He dug his fingers into her side a little tighter, and dropped his head a little as she hit the nail on the head with his dietary habits.  “I will give her my thanks… later,” he shifted and stood up straight again, unable to maintain the posture appropriate to looking her in the eyes. 

Fidgeting from side to side a little, Archer realized just how much it bothered his back.  “You should use that stool,” he teased, referencing the gift he got her for Christmas, well the gag-gift anyway.  The rest of it had been very meaningful, though and he was happy to have gotten the chance to give them to her before the family ruined it.  The brooch, he didn’t really explain the significance of it, figuring it could wait for another day, but he wanted her to have it, particularly because Hunter had a girlfriend now (he thought) and he didn’t want anyone else snooping around for it.  He had wisely been able to snipe it from his dad, who was more than happy to relinquish it – especially without talking to Mrs. Radley. 

“I might grab a drink though,” he reasoned out loud, “Do you want anything?”

“Only when you do not get the answer you are looking for,” she challenged back to the suggestion that she lacked entertaining qualities, a rarely witnessed glint of mischief in the back of her gray eyes. His opinion tended to differ entirely when she acting more agreeable to the male workings of his brain. She returned the kiss, her smile turning wry. “You might enjoy it but a few of your comrades might die in shock.” As he pulled back, she realized the potential appeal in that statement, depending on who those individuals were and scolded him before the idea hopefully fully realized, “absolutely not.”

The banter, the smirks and grins, the underlying competition, and most overall, the non-demanding warmth since Archer entered the flat had eased her troubled mind. Not to mention was successfully distracting it. She had not realized how much she had grown accustomed to having Archer Radley in her personal life, just how much she leeched onto that easy going nature and blunt honesty. She had missed him. Not that she would say as much. What remained of his humility would never survive it.

The problem of how Archer’s family had (not) taken to Tamis was still underlying the beginning of the evening with uncertainty. But Tamis Raynor would not be a Ravenclaw if she had the inability to learn. She was beginning to understand how to respond to such things and how not to respond.

He squeezed her waist and she patted the top of his hands, smirking up at him knowingly. The day Archer actually thanked the House Elf for anything (or vice versa), she would go out drinking with him. The much taller man shifted his back and complained about her miniature status indirectly, mentioning the stool he had given her for Christmas. She was not sure what her face had looked like when she opened it, but he had found it funny. The man was never to know that she had actually been using it.

Shaking her head when he asked her if she wanted anything, she watched him disappear into the kitchen and breathed a large sigh of relief, glancing at her bedroom door. Squeak had managed to keep her four-legged prisoner contained, even when she had come out to gather Archer’s bags. Until now.

The puppy must have spotted the New Person again as he passed by the bedroom door to acquire his drink. For it came bounding out of the bedroom making a beeline for the Kitchen, the gangly house elf hot on his heels as she terrifyingly tried to regain her hostage.

The icebox door shut; a signal of Archer’s impending return. Snatching up the wriggling bundle of fur, Tamis expertly cast a silencing charm as it tried to bark in complaint. She could hear Archer’s large, cumbersome footsteps. It was not a very spacious apartment. Even Squeak could not levitate the puppy back in time. Out of appropriate options, Tamis settled the dog into the crook of the couch furthest from the kitchen and then sat in front of it, barricading it from view.

As a last minute thought, she snatched up a small black box she had sitting on the coffee table and tried to look as calm as possible while little canines tugged futilely on her shirt from behind in puppy revenge. On Christmas Day, she had been a little embarrassed at the overwhelming number of gifts to the Siphon Coffee Maker she had given Archer. It had not been his only gift, but she had wanted to wait until after the fuss of meeting his parents to give him the other two. He had obviously been of the opposite opinion. She had meant to give them to him the same day but, well, given how events had unfolded… she had decided to put it off for a few days. To give her time to think.

“Here,” she offered, extending the small black box. “I meant to give you this earlier, but…” she shrugged and regretted it. The puppy got more than just shirt that time. She hoped the box would be enough of a distraction.

She cut him off at the knees.  Archer Radley would have loved to kill a few of his co-workers off with something as simple as a blush from Tamis.  He had gotten used to it over the years, especially as she started to get more prude.  She had the ultimate misfortune that he remembered her when she had been the hellion who was scant to blush at anything.  Even the dirtiest joke wouldn’t have put the slightest hint of a blush on her cheeks.  Sometimes he liked the memory – almost enough to share it with her, but he much preferred to keep it to himself. 

He was going to bend down and kiss her on the head, but decided that would probably just incite some sort of rage from the very small woman.  Instead, he grinned at her and winked, pulling his hands away (reluctantly, he had to add) as he moved toward the kitchen, thinking of the pop he would remove from the ice box.  It was too late in the evening for a beer and he would prefer the carbonated to the alcoholic at the moment.  He knew he did not even have to hope Squeak had gotten the correct brand – she was actually rather reliable.

Now, that did not mean they were best friends yet, far from it.  Squeak still did not particularly LOVE his presence, and she usually had some sort of tidbit of wisdom for him to improve himself, but by now, Archer was used to it and found it more amusing than anything. 

His thoughts blocked out everything else, and the tunnel-vision on the ice box really kept Archer oblivious from anything else that might have been going on in the flat.  It was a blessing for the other inhabitants and a true sign that Archer was not working.  If he were he would have noticed everything, but he was in home mode now, something he had missed.  Really, it was hard to imagine how much one got used to having a person around when you were apart from them for even a few days.  It gave Archer a swift kick in the backside of realization, though he denied anything beyond a lack of presence vehemently. 

Grabbing the bottle out of the ice box, Archer popped the cap, hearing the fizz and watching the foam bubble up just under the glass rim.  It did not over flow though, thankfully, and Archer lifted it to his lips.  A few seconds later, a quenched thirst, and smack of his lips later, Archer turned on his heel to return to the main room.  The flat was small enough that it was a feat easily accomplished in few steps – thankfully for his long legs, and Archer was surprised that Tamis was now sitting – she didn’t typically do that when he was standing, mostly because it exaggerated their already vast height difference. 

Archer was forced, on this occasion, to pull up the coffee table – which would probably kill Squeak, but hey, he could reparo the thing if it broke.  AS he lowered himself to sit on it – placing the drink on a coaster, that was probably purposefully put there, Archer raised his eyebrows at the box.  “Proposing, Tamis?” he looked at her with a smirk, “How forward of you,” he teased, turning the box over in his hands before he actually decided to open it.  It could have been so many things but he could not actually think of one thing in particular. 

So, truth had to come from experience and Archer snapped open the box.  Blinking, he looked at the R cufflinks in surprise for a moment.  He didn’t really know where this came from, especially because he actually seldom wore anything even remotely dressier than a tie – and even then, he more than usually had it slightly looser than acceptable.  These looked anitiqued, old – something that probably meant something, or were, at the least, something from the past she rarely talked about, “Wow,” he said as he looked down at them, unsure of what to say beyond that, and, of course, he leaned forward to steal a kiss, “Thank you, Tamis.”

If Tamis looked a little too pleasant and domesticated perched in the corner of the couch when Archer reappeared from the Kitchen, the man did not comment on it.  His step faltered for a moment, briefly enough that a person not accustomed to paying specific attention to habitual details would not have noticed. That she attributed to (she hoped) the sudden change her position. Tamis Raynor was as restless and most offices. They sat behind desks but they did not like them. As a result, unless Archer was already sitting, she preferred to stand. That and she preferred being three quarters of his size more than only half of it.

When he pulled up the coffee table, she felt a pang of guilt. But a paw (with nails Squeak was supposed to have cut) nudged against her back subtracted from her conscience a bit. Persistent little puppy. Perhaps she had been a little too accurate in trying to analyze personalities to compliment Archer. The crup breeder had amusedly told her that she was the first customer he had ever seen use an animagus transfiguration to help make a selection. She had calmly ignored him.

Proposing? She blinked at him rapidly, thinking he could not possibly be serious. Not that she found the idea of proposing entirely radical. Just the idea of her proposing. Or was it any proposing at all? It … this was such an inappropriate train of thought at this junction in their relationship. Her cheeks acquired the pinkish bloom he had been gunning for since he got through the door and that he was not successful at achieving. She scowled at him in response, knowing that he had won.

When he actually opened the box, the mood changed and his expression turned pensive as he stared down at the cufflinks. Trying not to show nerves, she watched him carefully. Did he like them? Squeak had a righteous little fit when she had told the Elf that she wanted her to fetch the cufflinks from Raynor Manor. She thought the House Elf was going to defy the impossible and actually refuse an order. The Elf’s literal inability to do just that compelled her and she had done as she asked.

Seconds ticked by and finally he said something. Wow? That was a good sign yes? It was a good sign.

He leaned forward to give her a kiss and, afraid that he would catch a glimpse of what was hiding behind her, she leaned back, griping the front of his shirt to show that she was not rejecting him. The puppy could not voice his growl as she gently pressed down on him, but she could feel the vibration of it against her back.

Unlike Archer had been with his grandmother’s brooch (his father, endearing man, had felt the need to fill her in, she continued to feign oblivion), she did not feel the need to keep the cufflinks origin secret. Revealing the information was, actually pertinent. Not only as they were otherwise a random gift, but to addressing Christmas as a whole.

“They were my father’s,” she said quietly, doing her best to ignore the continued complaints from the squished puppy. “And his father’s before. They were passed down several generations to the eldest Raynor son.” She fidgeted, feeling incredibly awkward, the puppy nipped, making her expression much more contorted than was accurate. “There are no more Raynor males… and the initial is right… so I thought…”

Tamis Raynor did not hesitate when she spoke. The words were always well formulated and carefully thought out. She tried to gather them now. “I would like you to have them.” Even after the catastrophe of Christmas. Even after dealing with his mother. Even after knowing she did not fit in with most of his family’s image as ideal. She hoped the point got across, she did not know how to be blunt with personal issues.

The puppy made a valiant effort to escape his captor and Tamis had to squirm, using her elbows to keep him hidden, doing her best to keep her expression neutral. Little blighter.

She did not disappoint.  Archer knew that he was going to elicit some sort of reaction out of the woman, whatever it might be.  Fortunate he was when she bloomed into a fresh blush and scowled at him – clearly the signal he had won this battle in a long series of battles.  Though, he hoped the war would never really be over, it was much too much fun to give up on now. 

The more pressing issue here was the set of cufflinks that were in his hands.  He did not have to look up from them to know she was watching him with a tense anxiety.  She shifted uncomfortably, he was not sure why, they were a stunning gift and Archer wasn’t really the type of guy who would respond with ‘these are beautiful!’  Regardless of the truth of the fact, it was not… something he would ever allow himself to say.  He knew how to convey his thanks though, and Archer was surprised when she put her hands on his collar, keeping him from kissing her.  What was this about? 

He was about to open his mouth and protest, but Tamis cut in.  Ah. The R was not something she just found in Diagon… no… not at all.  Archer glanced down at the open box in his large hands, this certainly changed the game a little.  Yes, he had given her his grandmother’s brooch, but it had been more of a… secret thing.  It wasn’t readily identifiable, really, to anyone outside of the family, and he figured these Rs, having been around for so long… well, they meant something beyond just a sentimental value to Tamis.  It was family history.

Archer was being considered as part of that history by accepting them, and he looked down at them again, almost too nervous to accept.  He was doing the best he could and didn’t intend to give up, but he felt like sometimes even his best might not be good enough.  He decided that kind of thought, that pessimistic road to travel down would probably only lead to disaster, and Archer looked at her contorted expression. 

She was nervous, which meant Archer was going to be cool about it and he smiled.  “Thank you, Tamis,” Archer said again, gently closing up the box and putting it on the coffee table next to him.  He shifted on the table and moved into get a real kiss this time, you know, the type that would curl her toes and make her hair stand up on end, but she squirmed and moved her elbow toward her back, as though she were twisting away.  Archer did not understand this aversion.  If he had bad breath or needed to brush his  teeth or something, she would have been better to tell him than keep avoiding him. 

“You okay, Tam?” he asked.  “You have looked nothing but uncomfortable since you’ve sat down. Are you alright?”

Pointedly not glancing at the two ancient Rs nestled in the open box in Archer’s hands, Tamis Raynor’s weary gray eyes settled carefully on his face. Twice now he had given her something of personal value. The protective rune, debatably symbolically representational of the beginning of their relationship as it stood now, was still nestled beneath her shirt on a simple silver chain. She did not believe in such folklore, at least not the trinket versions, as so few of them were legitimate. But it had been the meaning behind the gift. Then, the old pendant.

The petite woman was not a sentimental person. There was very little artifacts in her flat that held any sentimental value and she had spent far too much of her life ignoring her heritage to bother with that significance in the gift. If anything, she was glad to be rid of the cufflinks and their constant reminder that the pureblood Raynor line was ended. While not a purist, knowing that you were the last of a line that dated back nearly one thousand years and that the name would die with you was hard to swallow.

She could not remember much of the six years she had with her parents. She was long past the “my parents are dead” teenage angst that had spurred much of the rebellion of her youth. But the fond memories were sporadic, mostly of her father. She could remember excitedly running to greet him when he came home from work and, as had become routinely expected, being hoisted up in the air. The cufflinks had always caught her attention, her childlike eyes fascinated by them. It was the best that she could do in return favor.

The puppy continued to squirm in growing agitation, keeping Tamis from dwelling on such heavy thoughts for very long. He darted, she cornered him back, and Archer’s expression grew more and more complex, even his persistently muted Auror senses stirring by the obvious Suspicious Activity.

And then he threw her off balance.

“You okay, Tam?”

Tam.

It was one thing for Jonas Trevelyan to use the old nickname, common among her friends in her youth. Most that had used it were sadly long perished or the bonds of friendship had faded with time. The Wizarding Wars had taken great casualty on her Generation. Any of her newer associates that were privileged enough to refer to her by first name used it formally, most referred to her by surname. Jonas had been momentarily unnerving, restirring old memories of the past. Archer had been different; he had always called her ‘Ray’. Tait had rarely referred to her as anything other than Tam.

“W-what?” She asked, distracted.

The distraction was enough for the puppy. Taking advantage of her halted attempts to thwart him, the small black bundle of fur tumbled uncoordinated out from behind her, landing unceremoniously on the couch in a heap on his side but wagging his double tails enthusiastically at the New Person regardless.

Maybe there was something wrong with her – maybe she was sick.  She looked distracted and confused when he asked her if something was wrong and could only respond with a what?  Archer moved to get up; just in case she was imperius’d and lulling him into a false sense of security before she whipped out her wand and killed him.  Maybe he should have actually tried to engage Squeak in a talk about her behavior and see if she had gone absolutely nutters after his mother completely destroyed all hope of a smooth transition. 

It did not turn out that his mother had drove him insane though, at least he hoped not – it hadn’t seemed that way, and as soon as he moved to get up, a black mass moved and Archer’s eyes immediately latched onto it.  Tamis didn’t even try to struggle as it moved and it escaped – what on Earth?  Immediately, he knew it wasn’t Cat – Cat was grey, he had gotten used to Cat, and it wasn’t Squeak, as Squeak was green.  He grabbed at his side, where he kept his wand, just in case. 

He did not need the wand though.  Not at all.  When the black blur stopped moving, Archer was immediately frozen.  Its pink-tongue lolling out of its mouth, glistening black nose and big, dark eyes and double tails wagging excitedly.  This was not a threat.  No, this was… the best thing ever.  Archer had always been a fan of dogs, though their mother had always said having three boys was enough of a hassle, they didn’t need pets.  Well, they had a pet, but it was Hellcat – the pub cat – that chased the rats away.  Hellcat had earned his name.

The memory of Hellcat was interrupted as Archer braced himself for the wiggling mass to bark, though when it opened its mouth, no sound came out.  The pup looked as confused as he was, and Archer looked at Tamis.  “Did you silence him?” Archer asked, immediately reaching for the wiggling creature, barely bigger than his two hands together, and scooped it up, unable to hear anything from it, although he could feel its lungs expanding and see its face moving.

He waved his wand to relieve the squirming mass of its silence and Archer grinned as the puppy was finally able to express itself – its ears perking up at the sound of its own yips and half-barks.  Its paws pressed against Archer’s chest and he shifted his hold on him, making sure that he wouldn’t drop him before looking at Tamis.  “Who is this and how long have you been hiding him from me?”

It sounded more like the accusation of a jealous lover, but Archer really, it was about the sharing.  As the two tails intermittently whipped his forearms and his sloppy tongue lapped at his neck and jaw – not quite able to reach his chin and cheeks (Archer held him just out of reach for that), he laughed and could not stop grinning – about time Tamis got a pet that was friendly. 

For the briefest moment, when Archer’s hand slipped for his wand, Tamis poised to launch protectively for the puppy from what promised to be a grievous misunderstanding. All inner turmoil surrounding petname usages suddenly seemed very insignificant. For several long moments they seemed frozen in that standoff; Archer on the brink of drawing his wand and Auror instincts on full alert, Tamis half-tilted to the side ready to snatch the puppy back overcome by the most maternal instincts she might ever have, and the puppy lolling his tongue up at both of them completely oblivious to his potential fate.

Realization began to slowly twitch Archer’s eyebrows as he switched from “immediate response mode” to “analyze the threat” and she relaxed as he released his hold on his wand.

“It did not hurt him,” she bristled defensively at his accusation and watched him scoop up the puppy, who was delighted at the handling as much as he was about having his voice back. It was as if he was accusing her of animal cruelty. A silencing charm was much more humane than some of the muggle methods the breeder had taken to liberty to ramble at her, under the self-assumed pretense that she would actually be interested.

Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears, but she was not offended. A large and most pleasant grin erupted on Archer’s face, wrinkling the corners of his eyes and creating dimples in his cheeks. It was much more characteristic of the easy-going man than the solemn demeanor he had adopted since the Terrorist Business had budded into existence. The stress of the job took its toll on everyone. The smallest of a smile tugged at one side of her mouth but it flickered out with a second (much more jealous) accusation.

Crossing her arms, she quirked an eyebrow at him in that self-righteous, analytical way of hers. “Since a couple of days before the Holiday,” she admitted matter-of-factly. “And he does not have a name yet.”

Uncrossing her arms, she linked her fingers, resting her elbows on her thighs so that she could prop her head and smirk up at the rather comical pair while the puppy tried in vain to gain access to Archer’s face. A laugh escaped the large man and it was a True Laugh, not one of those quick responses to a witty comment or romantic amusement, but a genuine from the depths of his heart laugh. She quelled the sparking pride at actually doing something right for a change before she got ahead of herself. Thinking she had bought a puppy for herself was one thing. How he reacted to the truth might be another.

“I figured you would want to name him for yourself,” she finally clarified, offering a quick grin of her own before defaulting back to her traditional knowing-smirk.