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He’s done it before - let physical discomfort, emotional upheaval, and professional troubles get the better of him in his dealings with her. With a few flippant words he belittled her, denigrated her achievements, and thus, in retrospect, set her – them – on the wrong course. These are not his favorite memories.
Many months have passed, epiphanies have occurred (his), and life-changing decisions have been made (hers), but right now it seems that he hasn’t learned a thing. With a sense of déjà vu, he feels that he’s slipping down the same gaping hole as before. He's in pain, he’s in debt, and they’ve had nothing but bad news all week... And the last straw, the curdled icing on the overdone cake – she is going on a date. A development that was to be expected, but – frankly – was never going to be welcome.
She’s standing by the door, fixing her hair. That small pleasure he took today in admiring her fancy updo (in fact, his only pleasure today) is now ruined by the knowledge that the fanciness is for some other man to enjoy. It tips him over, and he crosses the line from casually grumpy to downright malicious. He makes a scathing remark, something about men having a bad influence on some women’s working hours.
It’s strange how the words sound so biting and so carefully chosen when he doesn’t even believe them. He knows better than anyone that the business is everything to her, that she’s all in, heart and soul. Still, with no regard to his actual feelings, the accusation flies like a poisoned arrow, finding its target unerringly.
She freezes, not even trying to hide her hurt and disappointment. With a sigh, she looks away from him and shakes her head a little before turning wordlessly to open the door. He’d give everything for a muttered sod off, but clearly she does not even think him worthy of a verbal admonishment.
She’s right, of course. He’s a mean fucker all right. She should refuse to speak to him for days. She should make him tea the color of dishwater for weeks to come. Serve him right.
But perhaps it’s not an exact repeat of his mistakes. Perhaps he has learned something. Because this time, he doesn’t let her go, doesn’t withdraw to his office to stew or self-flagellate. Instead, he reaches out and grabs her wrist to stop her from leaving. She turns around with a questioning look, and he opens his mouth to say something, to apologize, but he only says her name… twice… three times… and stalls. So he’s standing there in front of her, stuttering like a bad engine, and then her eyes widen slightly as if she’s just realized something. And then and there, finally, something inside him shifts.
He pulls her towards him and does the one thing he promised himself to never, ever do.
He kisses her.
Lips, teeth, tongue.
There’s a vague notion at the back of his presently exploding mind that this extraordinary woman deserves more than a desperate kiss born of guilt and frustration. There’s no space between them now, with his hands tangled in her hair and her arms tight around him, but he valiantly attempts to break away to get at least one meagre sorry in there – for being a sodding idiot, for… But before he can say anything, she grabs his shirt and pulls him closer again.
"Don't you dare back out now," she whispers fiercely and recaptures his lips with her own.
He grins against her mouth. There’ll be time for apologies later. It doesn’t look like he’ll be given the silent treatment, after all. And if she picks up on the tea idea, just so that some things are understood, he’ll drink it as if it was the finest, darkest brew.