formoftherapy | (no subject)

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The door is supposed to take her to Natalie's spare room; Kite stumbles at the threshold, but keeps going. The t-shirt and sweats she wears almost fit her. Another shirt and a pair of jeans are bundled in her arms. (These are splattered with...something. Cran-apple juice, maybe?)

She heads straight for the bar, where she drops the second set of clothes off. "Bar, can you...take care of these? I don't need them back."

The clothes vanish, to be replaced by a mug of hot tea. "Thanks," she murmurs.

Her throat is still a wreck, probably will be for the next few days. She can learn to like tea for that long.

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Sherlock opens his eyes and grins at her.

"People tell me that so rarely."

"People," she replies, "do not know what they're missing."

"Oh, sudden death as often as not. So few of them are worth anything else."

She laughs.

She probably shouldn't, but you don't get out of Sunnydale alive without a morbid sense of humor.

He grins.

"You're a delightful creature."

She ducks her head, coloring slightly.

"I'm glad you think so."

Sherlock reaches across the distance between them and touches her cheek.

"Delightful," he repeats.

She tilts her head into the touch; if the temperature disparity between them bothers her, it doesn't show.

"I think," he says, consideringly, "that I would like to hug you."

"I think--"

Her voice is thick; she has to clear her throat. (She is done crying tonight.)

"I think I'd like that."

"Good."

He stands up, crosses the short distance between them, and gently wraps his arms around her.

Kite hugs back considerably harder. (It's not like she can hurt him.)

"Thanks."

"Anytime," he murmurs. "Anytime."

"Careful," she mutters into the side of his neck.

"I'll take you up on that."

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. You should know that about me already."

She smiles.

"I do know. That doesn't mean I take it for granted."

"No wonder I like you," he murmurs into her hair.

Kite laughs softly.

"Yeah, well. I do make an extra effort to be charming around you."

"You succeed admirably," he informs her. "Also you're cuddly."

"Only around you," she admits.

(And Tony.

But she sees no need to rub salt in either of their wounds on that account.)

"Then I feel very lucky."

Also he apparently intends to continue hugging her until she either objects or dies of old age.

She's not going to object.

Not tonight.

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