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Anthea was not a polite person. To be fair to her, Mycroft thought he would not be a polite person either, if he had to put up with she did. Men became idiots in front of her, men not used to looking at fit women as intelligent creatures but instead as simply a body to be ogled. Mycroft certainly didn't hire her for her body, nice as it happened to be, nor for her pretty face. She was indispensable due strictly to her inventiveness and her memory and her knack for scheduling, among other talents, of which she had many.
She was also not his right-hand woman due to politeness. Anthea more or less took what she wanted. She used her innocent appearance to gain anything from better seats to highly-classified information. She jumped ahead in the queue and let men stare at her as she counted to three and tried to imagine herself in a more tranquil setting. She was highly intriguing, even if it made Mycroft feel sad for her sometimes.
He'd seen her reduce grown men to tears, and he'd even seen her tell a child who fell that what he'd been doing was stupid, causing Mycroft to wince and help the boy up. She'd looked embarrassed then, at least. She had always been careful to be respectful of Mycroft, if of no one else.
She was similar to Sherlock in some ways, except she didn't poke fun at Mycroft. Or, at least she never used to. But times change. Sherlock had grown into his teasing of Mycroft as well.
"Sir?" she said softly at the end of the day. It wasn't very like her to speak in a soft tone of voice, so he looked up immediately.
He carefully rose from his chair. "Yes, my dear?" He was the only one allowed to call her dear. She'd been clear that she thought the use of the term suited him.
"I think we should do dinner sometime. And maybe go to cinema." As far as he could remember, he'd never seen her invite anyone to do anything, except as a joke. She didn't have that joking lilt to her voice, but then again she was known for her skills in deception, which were another thing that made her invaluable, if infuriating.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because you look like you should get out more," she said with a laugh.
"You don't get enough of me during the week?" he teased kindly. Yes, she wasn't serious, then, or at least not entirely.
"What do you think?" she smirked.
He smiled politely. "I think I'll see you tomorrow, my dear. It's been a pleasure, as always." He bowed.
She took a long, thoughtful pause, but finally frowned and said, "Have a good night, sir."
It had never occurred to him that she might be interested in a date. If it had, he would have been even more suspicious.
***
Mycroft did not think of himself as desirable. Slightly attractive in the way his father had been, powerful, polite, all of these, yes. But not particularly desirable, when there were so many other men in their circle who were powerful, polite, and slightly attractive. He'd spent a portion of his life overweight, but he hadn't been asked out since his youth, no matter how fat or fit he was. Youthful bodies sought others with a desire to desire, that was all. He liked to flirt in general, but no one had taken an interest in him since uni. He figured no one ever would again, and that was alright. There were worse fates than being a little lonely.
He'd seen Anthea pull a multitude of pranks around the office. Nothing dangerous, no, never, but bad enough to keep everyone on their toes. Even he'd become victim of a few substance switches (salt for sugar, tea for other tea) in the kitchen area or of too-early appointment scheduling that forced him to read one of the books Anthea sent him. He didn't mind much. She kept things interesting that way, and it never seemed as mindless or random as the things Sherlock put him through.
He wouldn't tolerate toying with emotions though, or at least not his own. He could forgive her the flowers, but not the card.
Thought they would complement you. - A
He swallowed, carefully throwing the card away. He arranged the flowers to his content though, pleased. He would ignore the content of the card. He would hold no hard feelings. Quirks and all, she was his Anthea.
"So you did get them," she teased when she saw them. "You didn't say."
"Sorry about that. Thank you," he said.
She reached out suddenly, touching the empty cardholder. "Suppose they look more natural without the card," she joked, and left to get him some tea.
Mycroft relaxed. She'd just been kidding, then. That was clear. He liked when that was clear, even if it wasn't ideal.
***
Jacobs was hitting on her again. He did it every time someone let him sit too close to her.
I can ask him to leave, Mycroft texted her.
She smirked and looked up at her boss, shaking her head lightly. Ah. Perhaps she'd be telling him off spectacularly again. He always tried again, though, Jacobs. Men had the unfortunate habit of finding Anthea's brusqueness attractive. Mycroft didn't find it so, but he'd never hit on her. She didn't appreciate receiving the attention, and he didn't fancy giving it, especially not when he had nothing to offer her.
"Tomorrow night," Jacobs went on. "I could get a reservation at the place you were going on about. I know the owner, did you know?"
"Mm. I'm sure you could," she said. "I'm not interested in the slightest, Jacobs."
"You could be though, if you just gave it a chance. You're always turning everyone down. But I could make it worth your while."
"Oh, I highly doubt that," she said in a hushed but harsh tone. "You're dreaming, if you actually believe you could."
"Oh is that so?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow at Jacob's apparent self-destructive tendencies. They were more pronounced than he could have ever imagined.
"Yeah, it is. Think about it: You're a slob, you make others do your dirty work, you don't tie your ties quite right, your spelling is poor, your sense of decoration makes me cringe, you're much too fond of your ugly car, you have a pinched face I'd only wish on prison inmates, and...," she paused, noting the satisfyingly upset expression on his face, "that's quite enough to be going on with, don't you think? Leave. Me. Alone. Is that clear enough?"
"Oh come on."
She stared at him as if he were a stupid little boy with a scraped knee.
"Well, if not me, then who?" Jacobs puffed out his chest.
"Well, for one, I'd rather date Mycroft," she said, a joke in the tone. She glanced at Mycroft, but she was too late; he'd already hidden the twinge of very real pain her words had brought him. He rather hated to be a punchline. He tried to avoid it as much as he could. He looked away as Jacobs chuckled. "And he's going to make you leave now." She sat, dignified, like a queen, and Mycroft had Jacobs removed.
"I'm sorry about that," Mycroft said, feeling raw and exposed. He looked away from her. For some reason, it was always funny to think someone might date him, as if he had the same aversion to dating that his brother had.
Well, he didn't. He never had.
***
The chocolates were even crueler, he felt.
"Anthea, I'd like to see you."
When she entered the office, he sighed and pushed them across the desk toward her. "Please. You know I won't be able to help myself."
She sighed, shrugging. "I got them as a present. I didn't want them, but I thought I could pass them on to someone who I know likes the stuff. You getting something from me is much nicer than me getting something from one of the buffoons we have to work with, don't you think?"
He stared at the box rather than at her. It would be polite to accept her gift, but he really didn't want to do so. It happened to be a brand he was fond of, which would mean he'd end up eating the whole thing in one afternoon, and he would hate himself for it.
She picked up the box dutifully. "Just one? I think I can figure out what's in them all."
He chewed at his lip in thought. "Just the one," he said, watching her light up at his answer. It was good quality chocolate, so his only regret was that it was a diet day.
"You're sure you don't want the rest?" she asked, holding the expensive box out over the rubbish bin.
"I'm sure. Thank you, Anthea."
She set her jaw, turned around a bit stiffly, and said, "No trouble at all, sir."
***
They'd been drinking a little. She'd had more than he had, which was typical. Her only duty at the gathering had been to enjoy herself and through doing so put the others more at ease. It had worked well. She'd even casually flirted a bit. Deception was one of her skills.
On the car ride out, though, she sat and watched Mycroft for a little while as he made a few comments about the party and the officials who had attended.
"You're not going to write this down?" he asked as she continued to just stare. "That's okay. I can do it," he said, and he reached into his pocket a bit clumsily for his notebook. As he opened it and clicked his pen to the ready position, she leaned forward, eyes on his cheek, and kissed him.
He smiled slightly, pen pausing. "Anthea, dear, perhaps you should lie down."
"Would you lie down with me?" she teased, breath huffing against his skin. He swallowed hard, leaning away a fraction.
"Please, Anthea. It's hard enough to concentrate without your joking. Must you?" He eyed her a bit warily.
She pouted and leaned against the other side of the car heavily. "You're no fun," she said, smoothing her hair a little.
"You're just getting that now?" he joked.
She smiled a small smile despite herself, then pouted more than ever. He didn't get another word out of her that night, except when she said goodbye.
***
"Sir?"
"Yes, Anthea?" He pushed the papers aside for a moment, staring up at her.
"Is there anything I can do that would help convince you to go out with me?"
Mycroft sighed heavily, waving for her to sit down, which she did. "Anthea, I find you attractive, and you're one of the most important people in my life. But you must stop this."
"You're not interested, then?"
"It's irrelevant, isn't it? Or...." He hesitated. "Haven't you been joking? Please, be honest with me." He nervously folded his hands.
"Joking?! What?" She looked absolutely shocked. "No! I mean...sure, I'm awkward, sir. But I was serious."
Mycroft paused, trying to size her up. He found he couldn't. "I find it hard to believe you, much as I wish it were true." He reached for the paperwork again.
"So let me prove it."
"Pardon?" he asked without glancing up.
"I'll take you out, then," she said. "You'll see."
"And what shall I do if you end up laughing at me and I have to do my job without you?" Just saying it hurt. The words hadn't seemed to want to crawl out of his throat; he'd had to drag them. He was going to miss her if she left him.
"In that case, you should wake up," she said, "because you'd be dreaming."
He met her gaze carefully.
"Sir, I'll prove it to you, if you let me. I really will. You are the most stable, most gentle, most," she breathed, "perfect man I know. I've cared for you no matter your suit size. I'll care for you if you laugh at me, if you think I'm stupid and reckless. But don't think I'd actually only ask you out as a joke. That's beneath even me. It isn't my fault if you don't see how special you are."
She sat across the desk from him like a queen, challenging him with her gaze. He struggled to maintain eye-contact.
"Let me take you out," she said. "You're a real prize, and I don't want anyone else to have you. I'm tired of watching and wondering. You know how good I am at getting what I want, don't you?"
His lip quirked. She wasn't very good at getting him, thus far.
"I'll wait as long as I need to for you to come around. You know how you Holmeses are."
"Yes, I do." He stood, holding out his hand to shake hers. "I'll give it a try," he said.
She stood and took his hand, but not to shake it. She pulled it to her lips, kissing his knuckles. "Those chocolates didn't really come from anyone else," she admitted.
He winced. "You let me throw them all away?"
She smirked. "Not all of them. You liked the one you had. It was worth it." She grinned at him.
He felt anxious and wished he had another chocolate right then. They had been expensive.
"So," she pulled out her Blackberry, finding their his and hers calendars, deciding on a time. "What if we did Wednesday at seven sharp, sir?"
A slow sort of gladness crept across his face. It might go well, really. It was possible. "That sounds acceptable, dear."
"I'll go ahead and pencil myself in, then," she said, tapping at the keyboard.
"No, don't do that," he said.
She looked up, face falling. Her fingers fumbled at the small, plastic keyboard. She looked utterly helpless and in need of a rescue.
"Metaphorically speaking, of course, but I'd rather you used pen," he said with amusement. He grasped her hand to return the kiss to the knuckles that she'd given him.