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'Remember to register to vote by the 20th of April . . . '

Liz had watched in fascination as an advert opened with random members of the public being informed that they could not progress further.

"Why not? You let those people in."
"They can go in. Only some people can."

A young woman got irate with one man as he barred her from going onto an escalator. She challenged him verbally as to the exact reason for her exclusion from free movement; his response was evasive and vague. Then the advert's narrator addressed the viewer: 'Annoying isn't it? When someone says you can't do something.' It was quite the effective way of encouraging people to register.

Liz followed up this advert with a hasty viewing of the Electoral Commission page online, knowing full-well that she was excluded from being eligible, but wanted to check anyway. She wanted to get involved somehow, and it depressed her that she couldn't; it reminded her of her outsider status. She was a legal alien. When Liz first entered the UK, she was happily convinced that it was much simpler and less problem-ridden than US society. It soon became apparent that the UK was not so different from the US: it had its own complexities that both mirrored and opposed that of her home country.

She slipped on her heels after turning off her TV, and left her flat.

#

They're supposed to be briefing on the surge of London youths leaving the country to join ISIL. Instead, Finn has hijacked (ha!?) the set of TVs and stands, arms locked in a powerful hold, eyes baring into the screens intensely. Liz failed to miss the aggressive chewing his jaws were undergoing. He barely acknowledged her when she walked in.

She cast a bemused look at the news scrolls. 'I didn't know that ISIL was running for Parliament.'

Liz relished his irritated twitch. Sky News was discussing public opinion polls on the upcoming 2015 election. Labour currently held a 2% advantage over the Conservatives at 32%.

'That's good, isn't it?' she said distantly.

Finn rolled his eyes. 'No, that's not good at all.'

'Why not?' Liz countered innocently. 'It's a party that cares about the people, of course that's good.'

He scoffed. 'A party that allegedly cares for the poor yet drives them into further poverty by over-spending and taking us to war in the Middle East.'

'Well, I'm not denying that. Surely though, what matters is the future- their policies seem good for that- no?'

'Is that a question or are you deliberately trying to provoke me?' he snapped.

It was such an unprovoked snap that Liz flinched and momentarily took a step back. Finn must have realised that he was a little harsher than intended, because he relaxed his snarl face (or was it because she was working that startled deer look, like when he ripped into her following Richard's death. It gave him a mixture of satisfaction that he was intimidating her as his rival, and guilt that he was terrifying her as . . . well, as Liz. He was yet to determine what that meant).

'We need a party that doesn't fuck about,' he continued, this time nonchalantly. 'As much as I am reluctant to say this: we need a Conservative win. The other parties offer nothing substantial. UKIP bases its entire existence on exiting the European Union, and that in itself is a major question mark.'

'Isn't this the same Conservative Party that wants to increase surveillance in this country?' Liz surmised. 'That's trampling on our freedom, a little- we're included by that in case you were wondering.'

'That's been blown completely out of proportion.'

'And from what I know, they're completely devoid of empathy towards the poor.'

'Says the woman earning 250k.'

'Do you vote Conservative?' she asked, oblivious to his attack.

Her manner came out more accusatory than she intended. Finn bore holes into the TV monitors, jaw tensed while he silently chewed (destroyed) his gum. She could hear his thoughts: he was restraining himself from strangling her. Fortunately for the both of them, Mia arrived. Liz was almost grateful for her racial/cultural blunders regarding the ISIL issue because they prolonged the stormy energy bubbling between herself and Finn.

It was after he left that Liz took the opportunity to ask Mia what Finn's problem was.

'I asked him who he votes- will vote for- and he got all cagey with me. What's his story?'

'Finn is a political fence-sitter,' Mia informed her in a whisper, 'he can never fully express allegiance to one particular party because he finds himself relating to policies from both sides.'

Oh.

#

For a PR department of the Met police, they were strangely focused on the election. Wherever Liz strode, it was either a topic of low talking or incessant media attention in the viewing rooms. It was as if a new life had been breathed into the offices, coating everyone except Liz. She was excluded from any discussion mainly because everyone knew that it was pointless discussing with an American.

One lunchtime Liz took the liberty of wandering into a Waterstones and scanning the politics section. Like hell she was going to wait for someone to take pity on her. Granger wasn't in the picture anymore and she wanted it to stay that way. Her resolve waned when the books threw her into a pool of confusion. Sighing, she shelved the books, only walking away with the knowledge of the main political parties and their current leaders. What didn't help matters was dark news trickling in from the US on blogging sites about more discrimination against African-Americans.

When she returned to her office, her resolve dissipated and she deflated. The department was not only rapt over the elections, but divided over how to handle the ISIL recruits. Some argued that they were young, impressionable youths who needed guidance rather than the firm hand of the law, others (like Finn) argued that they should not be placed above national security.

Liz trembled. She neither had a foot in each camp, nor agreed with both equally. As much as this sounded fluffy and hippy-like: she wanted it all to stop. She willed society to come up with a long-term solution to all of this mess. That was her stance.

It was a stance that many would find wishy-washy: completely unfounded and reflecting a hippy mentality- much like that of her parents. Liberalism-gone-mad, people would tell her. But it wasn't just her upbringing that had led her to think this way, it was what she truly felt. Her own thoughts and emotions. If only people- Finn- could believe that sometimes she wasn't conditioned by Darwinian thinking ("I bet you were top of your high school class, but you always wanted more") or "Looney Leftist" upbringing. This wasn't some sort of martyr scheme.

'Don't brief against the youths,' she suddenly spoke out in a spaced-out voice, one meeting, 'or evoke sympathy for them either. Stick to the facts: the Met is doing everything in its power to prevent any more going over to Syria and Iraq. Don't pick a side, remain neutral.'

Finn finished mid-sentence to gape at her, since she had remained uncharacteristically muted. In fact, her sudden re-entrance into the discussion threw him off not only the point he was making, but also his response to what she had said moments ago.

'Not "picking a side" will actually do us more harm,' he recovered. 'The public will see us as weak and accuse us of not tackling the issue on point.'

'No,' she countered, 'we're the police, not teachers breaking up a fight in a school playground. Let the newspapers gauge the topic between themselves. Our job is to ensure law and order.'

Mia's eyes darted over to Finn's.

'What happened to the Liz that we all know and tolerate? The one that cares about taking an explicit moral standing point on any issues involving the Met? Oh, what's that phrase that you rarely mention . . . ah yes: transparency.'

Liz shot him a weak glare. 'This is what is best for this situation. This is what we're going to do.'

'We have to run it by Charles first,' he reminded her.

'Fine: let's go,'

'Well not right now he's-'

Liz had already left the meeting room; Finn had to jog after her to reach her side.

'What are you doing, Liz? Inglis is in a meeting right now, you can't just barge in.'

'We can wait outside his office until he's done.'

While they waited there, Finn side-eyed her, almost with concern.

'Something's different about you.' His way of asking her what the matter is without actually asking.

Liz turned her head to face him, replying numbly that there was no point escalating a problem that was already extremely serious, by becoming involved in politics.

Finn opened his mouth to retort, yet found none available for him to fling. He settled for observing her intently. Charles strode into view, giving them each a curt nod when he entered his office.

They followed him in. 'I take it this is about our upcoming press conference on the ISIL recruits.'

Finn was the one last in, closing the door with full knowledge that things were about to kick off. Namely because he was going to instigate it.

Whenever Finn and Charles were in the same room, Liz always knew she stood little chance. The old guard was in full presentation today- although it did please Liz that the only reason it still stood was because she sabotaged her own candidate (not that she was proud of that moment).

'The majority of the department is in agreement,' Finn began, 'that we should go hard on these youths- a paternalistic approach. The Met is not going to be soft on terrorist recruits.'

'That is such baloney, Finn. The "majority of the department" can't be spoken for like that, especially when it really means YOU.'

Charles sank into his chair, expecting the mud-slinging match of the century. At least he had something to cushion the fall when he collapsed under the strain of refereeing the quibbling pair.

'Go around the department, Liz, and conduct a survey: then you'll wake up to the opinion of your wretched underlings.'

'You're suggesting that I'm some sort of a war lord? That's rich coming from the man who ruled the department with an iron fist for the 5 minutes he was in power, after he ousted his boss.'

Finn flared up at the "5 minutes" comment. It reminded him of Sky News. Her Princess Diana act. Her frustratingly brilliant one-upmanship of him. The desire to remove her that was once quashed, was now resurging with a vengeance.

'You may have been here for a while now, Liz, but you have a child's grasp on the knowledge of this society and its politics. We need to prove to the public that we are competent. We already have a government that thought it would be a good idea to put police officers in supermarkets after shutting down stations-'

'-the Conservative government which you think is needed again.'

Liz matched his burning glare, spelling it out that she would not back down. Finn wanted to grab fistfuls of hair because this woman was so annoying! She had gone from removed to passionate within the space of 10 minutes; like a lion waking after a long snooze because the afternoon sun is finally making an appearance. Just when he had thought that he had come close to grasping a semblance of what this woman was about, she pulled a fast one and threw him back into perplexity.

'Charles,' Liz jumped in before Finn could launch an attack on her, 'I really think we shouldn't be picking sides here. Instead of echoing the sentiments of the media- riddled with agendas and ideologies- why don't we stick to the simple fact? "The police does not take this issue lightly and will be working in partnership with MI5 to root out the recruitment of young persons". That's it. You don't need to comment on the individuals and whether or not you sympathise with them. That's up for the public to fight out in obscure internet forums. You're not their father or their principle.'

Liz finished her impassioned speech, eyes rolling from Finn to Charles and vice versa. Charles indicated signs of partiality to her opinion, Finn a mixture of incredulity that Charles was considering her and being impressed by the eloquence of her expression.

'Hm,' Charles produced.

A silence clung to them when Charles mentally weighed up their arguments.

'I don't particularly relish the idea of tangling ourselves up in a debate,' Charles admitted. 'I just want the job done, so I think I'll have to agree with Liz on this one.'

Liz felt him bite back "for once" but she didn't care. The victory over Finn pleased her less than them doing what was best. Both made for the door when the discussions of their next move had ended. As Finn deceptively gentlemanly allowed her to pass through first, he muttered: 'You win this one, this time.' Much to his chagrin, he found himself staring at her strutting off. Eyes lingering on her slender figure.

At least she was an enemy on par with him.

When it came to the press conference, Liz was seated besides Charles despite not needing to be there. They delivered her lines word for word, and were surprised that it didn't receive the vitriol they expected it to. There were some mutterings here and there, but nothing substantial enough to rock the boat.

Finn's fear of "the vultures circling a little bit closer" was quashed. For now.

#

Liz's glazed eyes never broke contact with her TV as she chewed on her thumb. She hadn't even bothered to change out of her work clothes, because the election results were beginning to pour in. When the results began to slow down, she decided, satisfied with the lead, to call it a day. She may not know much about British politics, but she knew enough to know that Labour being in the lead was a good thing.

Waking up the next morning was a different feeling entirely. In fact, the world that she was beginning to understand had shifted. It was now an alien world, more so for the alien herself. The Conservatives had won the 2015 general election. The expected outcome had taken a complete u-turn.

As the final numbers drifted in warily, Liz began to switch off. All she remembered hearing before entering into her trance, was that the Conservatives had won but still needed a certain amount of seats until the total victory. Some of the newer, smaller parties had managed a foot in the doorway. Labour trailed miserably behind more than 90 seats.

That could only mean more cuts to the public sector. Cuts to the police force. Finn would certainly not be happy about the vultures- were the vultures one or two MPs, or were they every member of the party which he felt should rightly be in power? What was more bewildering than British society: Finn Kirkwood.

The PR department was much quieter than usual. For once, their employees were not clustered around computers chatting away, or laughing out loud at innuendo or puns. Or flickering looks at her nice work clothes. (Maybe she was a hypocrite for bleating about the poor when she had an expensive flat and clothes. Or maybe she had the right to treat herself and care about disadvantaged people simultaneously).

Finn, Mia and Liz sat together, silently making notes and sifting through any plans and ideas. Without permission, Finn turned the news stations on.

'Can someone explain to me what's going on,' Liz spoke, zoning into the numbers and words immediately, 'I don't understand it.'

'As per usual,' Finn retorted. Mia looked at her in pity, which Finn picked up on and obliged (somewhat unwillingly). Only after he had sighed. And rolled his eyes.

'The United Kingdom is made up of 650 parliamentary constituencies. In the general election, citizens vote both for their representation in Parliament as well as in local elections to decide what party will run their area. The candidate with the most votes in a parliamentary constituency becomes MP for said constituency; the party that they represent, becomes the dominant party for it. The party with the most number of MPs wins the election. The winning party's leader, therefore, becomes Prime Minister, rather than the US with its singular set-up of voting for the next President. The ratio of parties in Parliament depends on how many seats they won, so if they maintain or win quite a few seats then they still get their voice heard during Parliamentary Sessions.'

'And what is a "hung parliament"?' she quizzed.

'That's when there's no clear majority. A coalition forms, much like the one we just had previously. Don't ask me how a coalition comes about. Just don't- don't . . . ask.'

'Scotland?'

'Again: it's a rather muddled, laborious story. Besides, the main information you need to know you have just received.'

Liz nodded in wonderment, gaping at the information imparted to her and the source of wisdom. Finn noticed. He noticed completely. He liked that she was impressed.

'Thank you, Finn. You managed to do what no newspaper has done and clear things up.'

Finn eyed her suspiciously, wondering if she was pulling his leg, throwing a sly dig, mocking him; he was evidently not used to compliments from her. Her smile seemed genuine so he relaxed. Then he found himself becoming lost in her eyes.

Ugh. And now a flutter in his chest. Go. Away.

She was like a mermaid. A mermaid that would lure him into the murky water with her rich blue eyes and golden hair and her soft, refined and elegant voice. She would catch his eye, hold contact. Sing an alluring tune. Lure him in until he was head into the water, then devour him. Destroy him. Ruin him. Undo him.

He needed to fight her off.

'There should be a points system for educating an American on politics outside of their country. Maybe now you won't be so naive.'

That should do it.

Disgust seeped into her face. While they stared each other down, Mia, who had been privy to their intimate talk, struggled to conceal her knowing smirk. The type one had when they spotted chemistry between their friends in the group.

#

Liz moaned pleasurably as she sank deeper into her plump cushions and buried herself in her duvet.

Saturday.

With her increased workload of late, she was worried that a burn out was on the horizon. This morning was the prime opportunity to pamper herself.

Who knew showering, a daily routine, necessity, could be so wonderful? Sensuality washing over her body through warm water, trickling and caressing her skin as it slid down. She imagined a pair of masculine hands holding her curves firmly. Softly squeezing.

Half way through towelling off, there was an impatient round of knocks on her door. Liz threw on a robe and sprinted to her front door.

What. On earth.

Startled face met startled face. Liz because it was him. Finn because she was dripping wet and in a robe. He couldn't see if he was red but he surely felt it.

'How do you know where I live?' she demanded.

What she failed to remember was that he somehow knew that the Deputy Mayor was sniffing around her to poach. Finn equalled master of the dark arts.

'You're needed,' Finn announced, ignoring her. 'There's an urgent incident that needs our attention: I'll explain later but Charles needs us pronto.'

'Why have you come to tell me face-to-face?'

Finn's eyes, against his judgement, began to scan down her body. They flickered back up when he realised what was happening, and stayed rooted on her face.

'We rang you.'

Liz's face scrunched. 'I didn't hear my phone ring.'

She let go of the door, leaving him standing there to search for her phone. Her feet padded softly as if she were slightly elevated from earth. A floating goddess. He stood there awkwardly: did he come in or shut the door and wait in the corridor? Answers. Postcard. PLEASE?

'You can come in,' she said over her shoulder, 'shut the door because there's a man at the end of this floor who creeps me out.'

'Does he try anything?' he found himself asking. 'No. I think he's just some sort of over-excited man-child. Let's just say he's borderline pervert but hasn't crossed it yet.'

She disappeared into, what he imagined, was her bedroom. The layout and presentation of this apartment screamed 250k- the 250k that he should've gotten.

'My phone died. Son of a . . .'

Liz emerged, strode towards him and shoved her mobile phone in his face as evidence. He swatted her hand away, slightly irritated.

'Ok, I'll try and be quick getting ready,' she told him, 'but don't hold your breath.'

'There's no need for that. Charles said he doesn't need us looking smart, just presentable enough, so you don't have to mould yourself into dazzling PR mode.'

She made a face at him. He made one back.

'You can go now, I'll catch up to you in a bit.'

He remained where he was. 'I'm here to collect you. One of my many brilliant and skilled tasks as Communications Deputy. My skill set is in full usage today.'

'"Collect me"? You make me sound like a pizza or your dry cleaning.'

'Would you prefer me to say "I'm here to escort Your Majesty" from Windsor Castle to Buckingham Palace?"'

'That's an improvement, yeah,' she called as she went back into her room.

He wandered over to the view of the city, still trying to comprehend how he was in Liz's flat on a Saturday: it was like bumping into your science teacher in a popular shopping mall.

Minutes later she joined him, wearing her hair in a simple plait, a slightly loose jumper that hung off one shoulder (it was plain and dark, so suitable enough) and leggings with calf-height boots.

'You almost look like you're ready for a rodeo.'

'You know nothing, Finn.'

#

Finn led her on a different route on the way to their work building. When Liz inquired as to why, he replied that he was showing her why they had been plucked from their leisure time.

'Why do I feel like you're leading me to my death?' she deadpanned, 'as soon as I spot breadcrumbs, I'm running far away from you.'

'That would be an easy way to bump you off,' he remarked, 'my style is more intricate and methodical.'

Liz caught his smirk just in time.

Her attention snapped to the shouting in the distance. A crowd came into view. The crowd expanded the closer they got to them.

It was a protest.

Liz craned her neck to read their placards. One read: "How many more cuts?". Another: "No more Conservatives". Someone flung a traffic cone. It was lost in the crowd when it landed, giving no indication if it hit the intended target.

'Why?' was all she could manage when he dragged her away.

'They're unhappy with the statistic that 63% voted against the Conservatives, yet they're still in the majority. They want our electoral system to be changed, to reflect the true public sentiment.'

From this Liz gathered that this was the task Charles wanted them in for, and that she had a massive feast of crap to look forward to dealing with.

'Commissioner,' Liz and Finn greeted him simultaneously. Charles was pacing his office- in his uniform of course. 'For fuck fucking's sake,' he spat, 'couldn't they have waited until the week? I had plans with my wife.'

Mia texted Liz to say she was on her way. Can you bring lunch? Have a feeling it's gonna be a long one, Liz replied.

'Fortunately the main news outlets haven't picked up on it yet,' Finn told him, placating.

'Well it should,' Liz pointed out, 'since the people have the right to protest.'

'No, they do not have the right to protest,' Finn disagreed vehemently. 'This doesn't help the cause. Especially not on VE weekend: they couldn't have picked a worse time.'

'This is a democracy isn't it?' she bit back. 'The people are allowed to demonstrate peacefully without being criminalised.'

Finn massaged his temples.

'Well, I implemented TSG to create perimeters of control,' Charles spoke softly, 'but have given permission for specialist riot officers to be used should it get rowdy- which, by the updates I'm receiving, is happening right now.'

'Woah woah,' Liz interjected. 'We're walking right into a police brutality festival. Two steps back as we have recovered from the riots of last year. Commissioner, this won't help our image at all.'

'I thought you were all for sidelining media and PR to get the job done,' Finn reminded her.

'In this scenario, the media is entirely focused on police action- we are in the forefront and there's no avoiding that. Therefore, we need to tread carefully and that includes procedure-'

Finn pushed to butt in; she cut in swiftly.

'-which I'm fully aware is not my jurisdiction. Nevertheless, I believe that our roles are beginning to crossover.'

'What next? Queen Elizabeth Garvey makes a bid for first female commissioner? "Vote for me because I'll support you all in your crimes and transgressions, because I believe in honesty".'

'Oh, Christ,' Charles uttered with a sigh, turning to face the window.

Liz turned on Finn, hands on hips; she was still able to achieve the gung-ho look even in harmless-looking clothing. He met her fire with fire.

'Your comebacks are as ancient as you are,' she hissed, now seeing red. 'Is throwing my policies back in my face all you can do? So much for that skill set you insist you have.'

'If you listened to me more you would find yourself in less messy situations. Yet you still press on, completely ignoring that poor sod of a Communications Deputy because everything has to be your way.'

At this moment, Mia bounced into the room in a merry fashion. Her light only wavered slightly when she picked up on the sour mood.

'I bought you a bagel, Liz.'

'Oh great, is it wheat-free?' Finn questioned sarcastically, earning a set of daggers hurled from Liz's eyes.

#

An hour or so later, Sky News (them again) were allowing screen time for the protests. Charles had to take a call from Sharon Franklin and chose to take it away from the presence of his bickering PR duo.

'They have every right to be angry,' Liz commented as the footage showed some being man-handled by police, 'they feel cheated by these elections.'

'Who's side are you on, Liz?' Finn's voice was prickly. 'Because you're really sounding like a sympathiser of these trouble makers, almost like you feel that the people should be heard no matter what the consequence to public order. No matter how much damage they cause or how many officers they injure. Free love and all that bollocks.'

'Do you not sympathise with them at all? Our police force serves them 24/7; we care about their safety until they dare show their unhappiness. Do you not care?'

He snapped towards her until he was inches from her face and towering over her. 'Don't you dare ask me if I care.'

'Your actions speak otherwise, Finn. More like: "I'm a heartless bastard who only cares about his own interests: everyone else's come second. No one stands a chance against my cynicism and loathing. And if no one agrees with my way of doing things, I crush them without a thought."'

A chill swept over his features. His rage mode was off the charts.

She felt a flicker of fear.

'That's rich coming from you. You act like some sort of savour, which, in itself proves you have selfish tendencies, you just like to dress it up, spin it, bury it. You don't even know these people. You don't know this country- a couple of days ago you had no fucking clue about anything. Alas, you have to float across the Atlantic to preach your holier-than-thou mantra. No one wants you here, Liz. Your department hates you, Inglis tolerates you. Richard hired you because you make him and us look good, and because he wanted to get into your knickers. Was it satisfying shagging your boss, using your charms to get your own way? You have no friends here, no life. No one to care about and no one who cares about you, and you wonder why that is. Yet you have the audacity to imply that I'm the one without feelings.'

He finished his rant. She was severely wounded, eyes expressing anguish through brimming tears. He already started regretting his poisonous attack as soon as the last sentence had left his lips. Months of frustration just flooded out, and he couldn't control it.

'I didn't sleep with Richard,' she said thickly.

Shoulders sunken, Liz brushed past him. She drifted down towards her office, then changing her mind and making straight for the women's toilets. Mia's look was not stern,but it was certainly chastising. Finn ruffled his hair before placing his hands on his hips.

'When I say you took it too far, it really means you completely let it rip. Go after her and apologise.'

At first, Finn put up a stubborn resistance, then his conscience overcame his pride and male ego; he began to look for her.

Liz put the toilet seat down and perched on it. She remembered Sharon's advice on not crying at work, and thought: screw it, no one's here. She didn't know what was worse: the fact that Finn had managed to penetrate her psyche and voice her fears and vulnerabilities, or the fact that it was him that did it. She thought they were beginning to improve, becoming more cohesive.

She felt like they were becoming a solid team.

Well he cracked it, cracked her. She was an alien here. No one understood her or tried to. No one viewed her anything more than a trophy for the Met. When she conveyed this to her parents via Skype (they were reluctant, however agreed to learn how to use it given that their beloved daughter was moving thousands of miles away), her mother suggested signing up for an American expat organisation. Liz had attended one session. It went fine, yet her awkwardness reared its disgustingly grotesque head and she found herself excluded from the forming cliques. They were interested in her TED fame at first, and then drifted once they were bored of her. At least she avoided these cliques by being home-schooled as a teen. So, in a way, her home-schooling saved her from the torment, however contributed to her social awkwardness. Not that she blamed her parents; she understood that that was the nature of things.

Finn hit the nail on the head. Everyone at work did hate her (perhaps excluding Tom)- she could feel their resentful stares whenever she patrolled the floor. They were professional, of course, cold nonetheless. No attempts to endear them to herself were successful, so she gave up and just focused on her work.

She was a complete alien here. Even in the presence of her fellow Americans.

The toilet door opened. There was a pregnant pause as whoever it was debated on entering. Then the figure entered. Liz scrambled to peer under her cubicle door, recognised the shoes immediately and said: 'Leave me alone.' She sniffed, scrubbing her cheeks until they were dry.

The shoes were now peeping under her cubicle door.

'I came to apologise.'

'I believe that word isn't in your vocabulary.'

'I looked for you in your office and thought: if you weren't there then you had to be here. It's funny how any incident regarding you always brings me to the-' Finn managed to stop himself from saying "toilet, like the time I loogied your latté as I watched your speech on 350 degree communication."

When Liz remained silent, Finn sighed. 'Look, I'm standing in the ladies' toilets- something I'd never thought I'd be doing. The only possibility of that happening is when your mates shove you in the P.E. dressing rooms so you get a glimpse of all the girls in their underwear. I think that in itself proves my sincerity.'

'You've won, Finn. You've unpeeled all of my layers and exposed me: your work is complete. Now go and celebrate your victory with Inglis, the one who "tolerates" me.'

Realising he was getting nowhere, he decided to occupy the stall next to hers.

'What are you doing?'

'Well, you won't let me in your cubicle to talk to you, so I'm going to sit in here. Like I told you, I'm no stranger to toilet cubicles. Although I must say: I've certainly never had a conversation with someone where a cubicle wall is between us.'

'Why do you hate me, Finn?' she asked suddenly. 'I mean I know I took your job and everything but I thought we'd somehow moved past that.'

Cue another exhale from Finn. 'I lost my temper- we both know I have a ferocious temper, and I said things I didn't really mean. Contrary to any doubts you may have, I don't hate you. I'll be honest and say I definitely did when you first arrived- look I used your policy.'

His attempt at humour fell a little flat, and came out as if he was mocking her still. 'I wanted to inflict as much damage at you so I said what I said with that purpose, not because it's necessarily true.'

'But you were right. I don't have a life here. I work- even that is a question mark.'

'You know: it's not like I have 1000 friends on Facebook. Having a life without dealing with others' bullshit can be quite serene. In fact, all of it is quite overrated.'

'We're in Communications,' Liz noted, 'and neither of us communicates outside of work; the irony just writes itself.'

'I . . . lashed out at you because you made assumptions about me.'

'Is that your version of an apology? "I was a dick and pushed it too far because you misunderstood me"?'

'No, I'm just trying to explain why I reacted the way I did. You accused me of not caring. I . . . do care. I just try and put rationality and logical thinking before emotions. I guess it hit me hard when you asked me that. I'm not a heartless bastard, just a bastard who has his moments of thoughtlessness.'

Liz's face softened. 'Well, you paid be back for my assumptions by making one about my having a relationship with Richard. Although, you're right about the hiring me only because he wanted to sleep with me. Richard certainly had . . . intimacy issues.'

'I'm sure that wasn't the only reason he hired you. Besides, competing with you does make work much more entertaining. You being here allows me to exercise my powers.'

Was it possible to hear someone smile? Because he thought that the sniff she emitted came from an appreciation of his joke.

'I'm sorry that I upset you. Regardless of whether or not you forgive me, I think we should make our way back. Charles will be wondering where we are. Plus, as fun as this was, I don't know where the toilet ends and my arse starts.'

Giggling, Liz unlocked her door and both hovered awkwardly.

'Are we good?' he questioned uncertainly. Liz nodded her head rapidly. Finn put his hand out to shake hers while she lifted hers in the air, going for a hug. Because she's Liz. They moved closer together, spending the next couple of seconds waving their hands about as they struggled to agree on what method to seal the deal. Finn gave up and let his hands drop to his sides. Liz stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his steadfast figure. It wasn't an all-encompassing hug but it was enough to freeze him. Growing fed up of his lack of participation, Liz tugged at his arms. He reluctantly acquiesced.

God was he about to go into meltdown. Liz. His boss, Liz. Rival Liz. Pressed up against his body. A warm fuzz appeared in his chest. Then he thought: fuck it, I'm going in. He pulled her in tighter, although the body contact was driving him insane. He burned hotter when she placed her head in the crook of his neck. Both began to squeeze harder.

They avoided eye contact when they finally parted.

'No one must ever know that I came into the ladies,' Finn warned her, 'otherwise I may have to destroy you. I have a reputation to protect around here.'

'I'll store it away as potential blackmail, should you do something particularly bad.'

They rejoined Charles and Mia, the former whom informed them that the protest was beginning to die down, and they had to work on a PR strategy. He tasked them with preparing a press statement for the conference on the following Monday.

Liz was trawling social networking and blogging sites to gather intel on public opinion of the Met. She spent a significant amount of time on Tumblr, knowing full well that there would be images from people who were at the protest, since the main media had elected not to cover the protest yet.

There she discovered a bizarre dichotomy of subjects from British users. Politics and some sort of meme.

'What is "cheeky Nandos"?'