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'Newton. Geoffrey. Pulsifer.' Anathema was incandescent with rage. 'Put that computer down and step away from my desk. Right. Now.'
Newt didn’t think he’d ever seen her this upset, even when the world was ending. Or maybe he’d just never had the anger directed at him. She hadn’t actually drawn the bread knife, but the receiving end of Anathema Device’s anger was an uncomfortable place to be.
'I’m so sorry,' he told her, sincere and miserable. 'It’s my fault.'
'Obviously,' she said acidly.
'I didn’t think—'
'Obviously,' she snapped again.
Newt cringed.
They’d been so happy. As unorthodox as their get-together had been (from the 'set up by a great-great-great-great-great grandmother' part to the 'apocalypse hookup turned long-term relationship' part), once they’d settled into things, it had been everything he’d never had the courage to dream of. Comfortable; exciting; all-round wonderful. He loved Anathema, with an intensity he’d never thought he’d feel for anyone. Certainly not anyone who reciprocated it.
He should’ve known this couldn’t last. Should’ve known he’d mess up. It was Easy Electronics all over again, only worse.
Anathema took off her glasses to rub her eyes. She reached for a glass of water.
There’s no U in team, rang in Newt’s memory. There was no U in couple either. Well, technically there was. But that wasn’t the point.
He braced to be banned from ever entering the premises, let alone coming within a kilometre of her technology. It was a speech he’d heard many times from short-lasted employers.
'Why’d you do it?' Anathema asked. Oddly, her tone now seemed more curious than furious. 'You know you don’t get on with electronics.'
'You left it unplugged.' He hung his head. He should have known better. 'The battery light was flashing, and I thought it was going to die and you’d lose your work. I just wanted to plug it in…'
She sighed. 'So now I have a laptop-shaped piece of abstract art.'
'More or less.' Newt winced. 'Your research…'
'Luckily, my family taught me about backups,' Anathema said wryly. 'No notecards, but it’s all synced to the cloud. And I do a hard drive backup every night. I doubt I lost anything important.'
That was good. But still. 'I’m sorry,' Newt said again. 'I’ll buy you a new one.'
She put the glasses back on. Narrowed her eyes, pointedly.
'Or, um,' he corrected himself, 'you can buy a new one. I’ll pay. From a safe distance.'
'Deal.' She looked at him, still half-frowning, and Newt tensed again—
'You okay?' Her eyebrows crinkled. 'I’m not going to eat you alive. You made a mistake. You keep telling me that’s normal in life without prophecies, right?'
'Yes, but I was an idiot,' Newt said.
'Definitely normal, then,' Anathema asserted. 'With or without prophecies.' She spread her arms, beckoning. 'Get over here, witchfinder.'
Newt got over there.
'I love you,' she whispered, drawing him close. 'Don’t you ever touch my computer again.'
He nodded fervently, and returned the hug with spirit.