"Would that be such a horrible prospect?"

The air crackles between them, as his mind desperately searches for the right thing to say. The proper balance of humor and sincerity. Because what he wants to say is, "No, Carol, it's a terrifying prospect. And it's a wonderful prospect. I'd like to take you home and make love to you, but I'm afraid to fail you." But you can't very well say that to normal people can you? He knows, from a long and painful history of being misunderstood and alienating everyone around him, that what he'd like to say is very, very rarely what he ought to say. His mind catches up with him, offering up a convenient bit of repartee that sounds suspiciously like a line from the telly. He fumbles over the words.

"No, it's just that there's not much room on your desk."

She smiles to be polite, but her eyes are still grave.

"Don't pull another stunt like that, Tony. I need you."

And the silence stretches out between them. He tilts his head questioningly, trying to encourage her to speak first. He is aware it is cowardly, but he is too unsure of his footing to risk blurting out the wrong thing.

She gets up from her perch on the side of the desk and shuffles some paperwork. Disconcerted, he blinks at the empty space before him and rises to leave. Her voice checks his stride at the door.

"Can I come over later?"

"Of course, Carol."

He regards her for a moment, realizing that she won't be going into any more detail in the semi-public atmosphere of her office. When she looks up from her paperwork, he's a spec disappearing down the hallway.

Carol keeps pushing papers around her desk for nearly an hour before she finally screws up her courage and calls it a night. During the drive to Tony's flat she rehearses what she's going to say. It takes on a sing-song quality in her head, the words repeating over and over again, mocking her. Sooner than expected, she's pacing his front steps, working up the nerve to ring his doorbell. She doesn't notice the door swing open silently on its hinges, or even register the fact that Tony is watching her intently from just a few steps away.

"Aren't you cold?"

She startles and nearly jumps, but keeps her feet under her. She lets out a startled laugh, smiling to cover her nerves. Cursing inwardly - she knows she must look like a nutter - she trudges up the steps. She shrugs her coat down her shoulders and he instinctively reaches to remove it from her. She shivers as his fingers brush the back of her neck. He notices her reaction, and presses his hand against her back.

"You are cold. Do you want to keep it on?"

"No, no. I'm fine. Really."

He takes the garment and hangs it on the rack by the door.

"Wine?"

It sounds heavenly. And the thought flashes through her mind - Better enjoy it now.

"That'd be lovely."

She settles in on the couch as he hunts down one of her favorite reds. It does not escape her notice that he pays attention to all the little details, and remembers. She hears the distinct pop of cork, the wine trickling into the glasses. A moment later he is standing above her, a glass of Shiraz extended to her. She takes it gratefully as he sinks into the chair opposite her. They sit in companionable silence, as he waits for her to speak. All in her own good time.

"So..."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "So?"

She runs her finger around the rim of her depleted glass.

"Sorry...can I have some more, please?"

He tips the bottle and the dark red liquid pours forth.

"Thanks."

After half a glass more, she can finally feel the effects kicking in, mellowing. It's now or never, she tells herself.

"Tony...I have a favor to ask you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. And it's...it's a rather large favor."

"Is it?"

She pats the couch next to her, and he moves to join her. They sit very close, almost touching. She takes another swig of her wine. And then they are touching, his hand gently closed around hers. He removes her wine glass and sets it on the table. But he does not release her hand.

"Ask me, Carol."

She meets his eyes and finally finds her voice.

"Do you remember that penny I dropped on you?"

He stiffens a bit, his suspicions confirmed, but he keeps hold of her hand. She's shaking.

"I do."

"I want a baby."

He smiles at her, but his eyes are sad. Because he knows that this is the first step towards losing her. Not that he really has her now, but he has parts of her. They have time, and wine, and dinners. It's not a conventional relationship, but it fills so much of his need for human contact. A child would change all that. Her free time would no longer be her own. She'd owe it to that child. He knows that this child would occupy the greater part of her heart. And he thinks she'll no longer have room for him. It saddens him - but he can at least take comfort in knowing that she will be happier. Her happiness means everything to him.

He puts on his most convincing smile, and gives her hand an affectionate squeeze.

"You want me to go to the clinic with you? Flip through the book and help you pick out the genetic material of your dreams?"

She strokes her thumb along his hand in a gentle caress. It's difficult, but she tilts her chin up and looks him square in his impossibly blue eyes.

"Tony, I want you to be the donor."

Surprise, tittering on shock, registers on his face. He drops her hand and grasps the wine glass nearest to him. He doesn't know if it's hers or his. He doesn't care, either. He drains it in a single go.