Sooner than she could have believed possible, it was time for him to leave.

A phone call announced that a taxi was due to arrive in half an hour. It took less than a third of that for him to push all his belongings into his holdall, and then he and Holly were left in the lounge, looking at each other.

"Even I can't make double figures in twenty minutes," he said eventually. "But come to bed and I'll see how far I can get towards it."

Dickon was still a resident of the cottage, despite her efforts to get him rehomed. As though aware of the undercurrents in the air, the kitten put his front paws on the black trainers and mewed to be picked up and stroked – which Jag did, although his attention never wavered from Holly's face.

"Oh, sweetie, you wouldn't believe how tempted I am. Really." She laid her hands gently on his face. "But the answer's still 'No'. For both our sakes."

A faint frown creased his forehead; his eyes searched her. "Would you mind explaining that?"

She exhaled, and was silent for a few minutes. "Sex ... changes things," she said at last. "It changes people, it changes relationships. And I'm ... I'm happy with the way things are, with the way we are. I don't want to risk that, not yet. It matters to me too much."

"Our relationship matters to you?"

"Don't you think it should?"

"I'm a Black Ops agent. I kill people. I lie. I steal. I cheat. I whore." He explained it to her slowly and patiently. "You know that."

"Of course I know that. What difference does that make to us?"

The frown became a scowl of confusion. "Doesn't it matter to you?"

"Sweetie, you matter to me."

"You're not making any sense!" He removed her hands from his face and stepped back, putting Dickon down on the floor as he did so. "Why the fuck should you care for someone who does what I do for a living? – and stop bloody calling me 'sweetie'!"

"Sweetie. People are more than their actions, and I'm not answerable to you for my feelings. All I know is that I've lived this long by trusting them, and they say that you and I are friends. And that's all that matters to me, and I'm sorry if you don't like it."

For a moment longer he glared at her, and then suddenly, reluctantly, a smile of singular sweetness broke through the storm. "I wouldn't dare admit it if I didn't.

"But ... there is one thing I really would like us to do before I leave. If you're up for it."

=/\=

It was late afternoon. Earlier the sun had been shining, but a light veil of rain had swept up the dale, and now even Pen Hill was only a dull shape across the valley.

Still, neither of them felt the cold, even though both of them were naked and on all fours in her bedroom. He nudged and nipped her playfully, and she bit his ears and rolled over to nibble his fingers; looking up, she saw the grey eyes gazing down at her with so much affection they were almost unrecognisable.

"I think you'd better get dressed again before that taxi arrives," she told him, reaching up again to stroke his cheek. "Otherwise the poor man's going to get a horrible shock."

"I could still give you a taster." He leaned down and nuzzled her nose. "I'm a quick worker, you know. And you really have got the most delectable..."

Holly smiled, shaking her head. "Not this time, sweetie."

Jag heaved a sigh as he straightened up again. "You can't blame a chap for trying."

"I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't."

They dressed again, unselfconscious and gentle with each other. Then they walked back into the lounge, where she pressed on him a plastic container full of home-made cakes (there was just room for them in the holdall, with a push) and he stroked Dickon for the last time as the kitten ran over to him. "You do realise you won't be getting rid of moggy here."

"Sweetie..."

"I'd like to think he'll still be here with you when I think of you," he said softly.

Holly heaved a sigh of her own. "You really are a shithead, you know that?"

"Yes, and I'm really good at it." He picked Dickon up and handed him to her; the kitten purred happily up at them both. "You don't want to give him away anyway. You're as hard as a bloody marshmallow and you never were going to do it. Everyone knew it except you."

"I don't need a kitten!" she said in exasperation.

"No." His lips brushed hers lightly, even as the sound of the taxi came from outside. "But can I leave you a friend?"

"Oh, get yourself out of here before you have any more ridiculous ideas!"

But his sidelong smile as he picked up the holdall noted that she held Dickon tightly.

They walked together to the door, and in the last moment before she opened it he kissed her again. "Double figures next time?"

"I rule nothing in, I rule nothing out. You may never come back here, sweetie." She tried to keep her voice even as she said that. He was going back to the Section, to his team and his dangerous work. He might die the next day, and she would probably never know.

"If I live, I will. I promise." He caught hold of her jaw and held it, gently but firmly. "God help me if I know how you did it, Holly, but I need you. I'll most likely need you again. May I come back?"

"I told you the very first day, your welcome in this house will always be assured. I said it and I meant it. Whenever you need me, Shithead, I'll be here for you."

His serious face dissolved into laughter as he pulled the door open. "And on that poetic note, I'll love and leave you." As he stepped into the porch, he leaned back for a last kiss. "And by the way," he whispered, "my name's actually Malcolm."

She watched him stroll to the taxi and sling the holdall into the back seat before dropping into the front passenger seat. He lowered the window long enough for one airy wave, and then the flitter was slipping away down the road, carrying him towards his destiny.

She watched until she could no longer see or hear it, and then she walked slowly back indoors. The rain was clearing towards the west, and she should check the bean-rows in the vegetable patch; there would most likely be some early beans ready for gathering, and after that heavy shower the earth would be soft and pliable for hoeing. There was always work to be done in the garden; weeds, her mom had always said, didn't know the meaning of 'holiday'.

But before anything else, she had someone whose mind was running on food. Even in the past couple of weeks, Dickon had grown like a weed himself. Apparently she'd have to make another appointment with the vet – to get him vaccinated and, in time, neutered.

"I do not need a kitten!" she told him in exasperation. To which he responded by purring with a perfectly reprehensible amount of charm, so that whether she wanted to or not she thought how lonely the house would seem without him. With a sigh, she admitted defeat. "But he's right, isn't he, sweetie? I do need a friend. As long as you wear a bell-collar when you go out, right? I'm not having you depopulate the garden. Just as long as that's clear to the two of us."

If Dickon had any objection to this proviso, he was wise enough to keep it to himself. He nestled in the crook of her arm, purring even more loudly as she stroked him under the chin.

The house seemed strangely empty as she walked to the kitchen. It always did when she'd had a patient here for a time, but she couldn't remember a time before when the inevitable departure had struck her so hard. It would take her a while to find her balance again; and some of her wondered whether she ever would be quite the same person as she had been just those couple of weeks ago.

The cloud was clearing. A friendly finger of sun pried through the grey outside and the raindrops on the garden woke like sudden jewels.

There were no certainties in life. But like the sunshine, there was always hope.

She would see Malcolm again. And as she'd told him, she ruled nothing in and ruled nothing out. So maybe next time...

The End.