Work Text:
“White picket fence,” Freddie says, and Bel turns to look at him, resting her head against the wood of the bench behind her.
“With Hector? Not bloody likely.”
“No,” Freddie sighs, anger flashing through him for an instant that Hector was the one who came to mind. “With me.”
“2.5 kids and a doghouse? This isn’t America, Freddie.”
She sounds drunk, and he is drunk, so that’s why he insists. Probably.
“You’re avoiding the question, as usual. Why did you think of Hector first?”
He makes a disgusted face as he says the name, wrinkling his nose and looking even more like a disheveled young boy than usual.
“I happen to be sleeping with Hector, not you. Usually the person you’re sharing your bed with is the one who comes first in ridiculous fantasies.” She tries to kick him, but instead slides further along the bench and watches her left shoe slip off of her foot.
“Damn. Think you could find that, Freddie?”
“I couldn’t find my own shoes at this point, Moneypenny. And you know that’s not true, not with us. If you had to pick one person to go to Kansas with, you’d pick me. And I’d pick you.”
Their noses are almost touching, and Bel lets her forehead rest against Freddie’s, eyes shutting slowly.
“True enough,” she murmurs, feeling utterly old. “But we aren’t running off to Kansas, James.”
“We will,” he whispers against her skin. “One day, I swear it, Bel. We will.”