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It was pouring, but he didn’t care; the weather matched exactly his mood this evening. He knew that he would have screwed it up; thought so from the beginning, but there was just something about her that pulled him in; that made it so that even against his better judgement he could not resist her allure.
So he kissed her, just like that out of the blue as she went on and on about something or the other about a person who shall remain nameless on the metal slab in the morgue.
At first touch, he felt her whole body go rigid; her lips firm and unyielding in her surprise. However as the heat from his hands on her hips started to seep into her skin through her cloths, and the tentative brush of his tongue against the seam of her lips, her eyes began to flutter shut, and her body melted into his.
The taste of him on her lips bringing to the forefront of her mind the smallest quirk of his lips of a smile that he tried to hide from her, and the gentle brush of his fingers that always seemed to find hers whenever he was near. To her it was nothing and something that she would not normally think about coming from a normal person, but from him, from this very secretive, closed man it was him calling to her, in the only way that he knew how.
What started off tentative and shy, erupted into full blown passion that both did not think that they themselves possessed; bodies being pressed against hard surfaces in a frantic need to be closer; hands digging into hair; and lips and teeth biting into soft, willing lips.
So they kissed, and then they dated. Dated in secret away from the prying eyes and ears of little brothers, nosey but well meaning assistants, and overbearing mothers and friends.
They shared many more kisses and then some; passionate nights and sometimes days, relaxed cuddles on the couch or in front of the fire, lazy afternoons sipping coffee and sharing a paper (him the business section and the cross word and her, the entertainment and comics).
All during all that time, he waited on baited breath for the day that he would screw everything up because he thought; he knew that it was inevitable for him to screw up any and everything good in his life when it came to relationships.
So that’s how he got there, standing on her door step, sopping wet and unbelievably disheveled; reaching and then bring his hand back before he could ring her doorbell, repeatedly. Because just when he works up the nerve to ring her doorbell and apologize, his traitorous mind berates him and sneers at him, jeering, the words constantly repeating over and over again in his mind, “why would a woman as lovely, as innocent, as pure as her trouble herself with you”.
As he worked up his nerve again, just as he was about to press the bell, the door wrenched open, and all he could do was stare at him with a look akin to that of a deer caught in headlights.
“What do you want Mycroft” came her terse voice; her arms crossed over her chest, signaling her displeasure and ire for him.
He eyes her for a beat, taking in the sight of her; oh how he missed her, even though he had only seen her just that morning, his startled look fading into an earnest expression of contrition. He took a deep breath, the long speech that he practiced in his head; the one where he explained to her the truth and circumstances of his deception, on the tip of his tongue, but rather what came out
“I... I’m sorry” he finally said sincerely, dropping the mask that he usually wore to show her that he really meant it; the mask that she knew only she was privy to see behind, and even that was not as often as she liked, so this gesture, although small in the eyes of many, was something precious to her.
His hand, out of instinct and agitation, rose up to rub at the back of his neck, “I know what I did was inexcusable Molly. I... I was afraid and I know that is not a good excuse, and I understand if you never want to see me again. I just needed you to know, and I truly am sorry” he finished in a rush, defeated.
He turned go, not waiting for a response.
“Mycroft wait!” she called out to him in exasperation.
He turned back to face her, the resigned look in his eyes squeezing at her heart; the sight of this usually infallible man, vulnerable and resigned making her heart ache.
“I am mad at you, and we fought but that doesn’t mean that I don’t still care for you” she told him with some exasperation.
“I hate when you make me feel like I don’t matter” she continued.
He looked at her in shocked surprise, “Of course you matter!” he told her in a tone of voice that just screamed ‘duh’.
“Well sometimes it’s very hard for me to tell. I’m not like you, I can’t read in just the twitch of a hand that that means something more. I need you to act like it; to act like I matter to you” she explained to her emotionally stunted boyfriend.
He nodded at her dumbly, at a loss for words, and then said sincerely, “Okay”
She gave a sharp nod, as if sealing a deal between them to be more open and trusting of one another.
A quiet settled between them, the only sounds to be hear was the pitter patter of rain drops falling around them.
“You still... like me?” he asked cautiously, not quite believing that someone could like, much less love him.
“Like you? I like ice cream, I, love you” she told him, staring straight into his eyes for him to see the truth in her words.
He looked on at her in amazement, not quite believing her words, but seeing it clearly written across her face, clear as day.
“But that doesn’t mean that I am still not mad at you” she continued
“And you have every right to be” he said as he cautiously moved towards her and took her into the circle of his arms.
She laid her head against the cold, wet cloth of shoulder, inhaling deeply; although the rain had muted his warm scent, it was still there, and still the comfort that it always was.
The feel of her in his arms, so right.
“For what it’s worth, I ... I ...” he tried
“I know” she whispered as she closed her eyes and left herself relax into him, finally.