Archive of Our Own

"Nicholas!" Mark's greeting was warm. "I didn't know you were back in the country."

The man so hailed turned, smiling. "For the foreseeable future, I'm afraid."

They shook hands and Mark was struck by how little Nicholas seemed to have changed in the few years since they had last seen each other. There were perhaps more lines around the pale eyes, a hint of silver hidden in the short blond hair, although Mark wasn't sure that the last wasn't just projection on his part as he spotted more than a few grey hairs every time he looked in the mirror. One thing that hadn't changed was Nicholas' touch, strong and dry, his hand enveloping Mark's without smothering or pressuring. That was the Nicholas that Mark remembered so clearly, a constant and oddly reassuring presence in his life at the embassy despite the strange way in which their jobs entwined.

Mark caught sight of the badge clipped to Nicholas' chest.

"You're part of this new international task force?" he realised aloud. While he had received a memo about the creation of a pan-European, information-sharing intelligence network, MI6 had been keeping the details very close to their collective chests, which made him suspicious, 'clean' and firmly in the cold.

"Heading it up," Nicholas agreed. "At least our part of it."

The news laid to rest a few of the fears that Mark had had over the reaction of Nicholas' superiors to Nicholas backing his stance on Tyrgyztan. Nicholas had told him that his orders had been to destroy the evidence (a breach in itself) and to do what it took to make sure the information didn't reach the public. However, when Mark had gone to him, Nicholas had chosen to be part of Mark's rebellious campaign for vengeance and had somehow bullied his superiors into backing their actions. Quite how the President had come to to overrule Warner, Mark had known better than to ask.

"Nicholas, that's wonderful," Mark told him sincerely. He'd tried to find out what had happened to Nicholas after he had been recalled to London for debriefing, but his every attempt had been blocked. "Congratulations."

Nicholas inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "And to you, Foreign Secretary. How does 'domestic' politics compare to ambassadorial duties?"

There was something in the way that Nicholas spoke that made Mark sure that Nicholas knew the answer to the question. Even if he hadn't been able to keep track of Nicholas, Nicholas had kept track of him, Mark realised with a warm feeling.

"Possibly more cut-throat if that's believable." How did one explain the difference between trying to charm a few diplomats and balance a constituency, a cabinet post and a son? "But, at least, it's nice to be able to direct some of the policies for a change, and no one has attacked me with anything other than words recently."

They smiled at each other, the shared past suddenly feeling very close. Mark could have done with someone like Nicholas by his side every day since the results of the safe by-election had been announced. He didn't think he had disgraced himself yet but a few times he had found himself wishing he was back monitoring elections in any country where he wasn't on the voting ballot.

"How is Azzam?" Nicholas asked quietly.

Mark could feel his expression softening as it seemed to these days when the boy he now thought of as his son was mentioned.

"As well as might be expected. I'm not sure what kind of father I'm making but we seem to be doing all right."

"I'm sorry things didn't work out with Miss Lavery."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "It was probably for the best. I came with more baggage than either of us realised. I hear she's doing well."

Nicholas had been there in the aftermath of James' death, helping Mark deal with the results of his ultimatum and his suddenly expanded home-life. In anything other than politics it might not have been counted as a long time before Nicholas was ordered home, but it had been long enough for Nicholas to know far more than Mark, in other circumstance, would have wanted him to.

"Whipping the U.N. into shape by all accounts," Nicholas agreed politely.

Mark felt some of his bonhomie fading. "Did you keep track of everyone?"

Nicholas' gaze flicked over Mark's face, taking in the nuances of expression that Mark was not able to smooth away behind appropriate indifference.

Nicholas gave a half shrug, almost a settling of his suit rather than a gesture, and met Mark's eyes before saying carefully, "Not everyone."

There had always been a slight tension between Nicholas and Jane, more on Jane's side than Nicholas', admittedly, and there was little reason why Nicholas would keep track of her unless it was because of her presence in Mark's life. It was always the little things with Nicholas, Mark remembered. He had never been sure if it was something that Nicholas had been taught as part of his job or something that had predated, and led to, Nicholas' recruitment. He'd missed the subtle and occasionally teasing humour that he had come to recognise in the other man, the complementary presence that had stood beside him when it had seemed like the world was going to hell around them.

"Look, are you doing anything this evening? I know it's a Friday night so you probably have plans but if not would you like to come over for dinner? It might not be up to any great standard but I'm sure Azzam would love to see you again and it would be nice to catch up."

Was it fair mentioning Azzam, Mark wondered even as he said it. James hadn't been above using the boy to try and manipulate Mark. Mark had not meant it that way, but as he'd made the offer he'd suddenly feared that Nicholas wouldn't accept and, intended or not, the words had just fallen out of his mouth. His own relationship with Nicholas he would have been hard pressed to put words to, but Nicholas and Azzam had shared an understanding that, upon reflection, hadn't surprised Mark; they both understood funerals very well.

Nicholas' crooked smile reassured Mark even before Nicholas asked rhetorically, "How could I turn down an offer like that?"

"What time do you get finished?" Mark quickly ran through his own schedule and tried to remember if he had any plans for the evening which he was overturning. "We normally eat about half seven. I'm afraid you'll probably be drafted in to play Uncle Nicholas for a bit but Azzam goes to bed at nine and we can talk afterwards." He was babbling, he realised and Nicholas, ever polite, was just letting him.

"Shall we say seven?" Nicholas suggested.

After that it was just a matter of details and niceties. Mark spent the rest of the afternoon's meeting trying to remember what food he had in the house and wondering what he could feed Nicholas that wasn't chicken nuggets and spaghetti hoops.

The lounge was lit by the up-lighters on the walls rather than the main light, giving it the warm, cosy feel that ten o'clock on a Friday night in called for. Returning to the lounge from tucking Azzam in, Mark smiled to himself to see Nicholas slumped slightly in the arm chair. He knew that feeling only too well. Nicholas' presence had practically guaranteed that Azzam was not going to be in bed on time as the boy had been both delighted and desperate to show Nicholas everything about his home. Where he got his energy from Mark wasn't sure, and it seemed a cruel trick of nature that it couldn't be shared around with those more experienced souls who had to try and keep up.

"You make a very good Uncle Nicholas," Mark commended, announcing his return and wiping any sign of amusement from his face. "Coffee?"

"Thank you." Nicholas began to get up, obviously meaning to help, but Mark waved him down. Nicholas smiled gratefully as he complied, relaxing with a languid grace. "I enjoyed playing... what was it?"

"Super Mario Galaxies." Mark couldn't help smiling back, a feeling of simple contentment infusing him at the unaccustomed normality of the moment. It was so far from the embassy and the strange and twisted world they had inhabited and yet Nicholas had fitted in as if he had been a regular tea-time guest. The more cynical part of Mark's brain, honed by so many years in the foreign service, warned that MI6 agents were trained to blend in to any situation they found themselves part of, even domestication, and not to read too much into the genial atmosphere. "I'm dreadful at it," Mark confessed, pausing on the threshold between the living room and kitchen. "I think Azzam was overjoyed to find someone who could play it with him."

Nicholas' chuckle followed him from the room. "Video games not one of your many talents?" Nicholas spoke just loud enough to be heard through the open doorway.

Mark popped his head back, packet of coffee grounds in his hands and a rueful smile on his face. "As it happens, no. I don't know why I'm surprised it's one of yours." He looked at Nicholas speculatively as he eased the packet open. "Does MI6 recognise the star collection method of hostage negotiation?"

The corners of Nicholas' lips quirked but he responded with equal seriousness, "We don't traditionally send in Italian plumbers to fix any 'leaks', no." He paused for a moment. "And the thing with the mushrooms is definitely discouraged, except in very exceptional circumstances."

"Giving away state secrets," Mark chided. He turned to go back into the kitchen when a thought struck him. "Do you want a shot of something with that coffee?"

He could almost feel Nicholas' regard as he weighed the offer and, while his expression gave no clue of it, the calculation racing behind Nicholas' eyes.

"Only if you are sure about that guest room." Nicholas' words were polite, expected, throwing the ball back into Mark's court. They had both played at diplomacy for too many years.

"Well, you did promise Azzam you would stay over," Mark assured him, offering an excuse they could both work with.

Nicholas blinked slowly, dipping his chin briefly in submission. "I could never turn down an offer of coco-pops," he agreed lightly.

"Thank you. It means a lot." Mark let the 'who to' go unsaid but it rang in his ears. "I'll get that coffee."

Leaning against the counter in the empty kitchen Mark took a deep breath. It was too easy being around Nicholas again, especially now when they were no longer colleagues. He added the hot water to the coffee on automatic, staring at the murky liquid as if he could read clues to the future in the swirl of grounds as his grandmother had claimed to do from tea leaves. All it told him was that he was being eminently ridiculous.

With that denunciation held firmly in his mind, Mark set about gathering the rest of the necessities. He realised he didn't know how Nicholas took his coffee and thinking back over long years of longer meetings he still wasn't sure. He held the truth of that up for examination - he didn't really know Nicholas, not the little things, the personal things. He could have told anyone how Phil took milk and two sugars in his tea and only drank coffee when hung over and then totally unadulterated and thick as mud. How Nasreen claimed coffee gave her a headache but loved hot chocolate when having to work late or how Jennifer preferred fragrant blends and light roasts and Sally preferred fruit teas which she shared with Paul who claimed it was Doctor's orders although most people thought that that was just an excuse because he didn't think fruit tea was a sufficiently 'General' beverage. Had he not let himself notice when it came to Nicholas or was it just another part of the spy mystique that even the way you fixed your drink was classified?

They had, at least, been through enough together that he could just put the un-decanted milk on a tray without embarrassment. He added the sugar and spoons. It seemed an oddly jumbled collection, the cafetière and coffee cups at odds with the slightly cracked sugar bowl and two pint plastic bottle grabbed quickly from the local Tesco Metro, but that was his life now, entertaining constituents one minute and a nearly-teenage boy the next. The thought of Azzam brought a smile to his face, one that grew slightly rueful as he imagined what the boy would say if he found Mark hiding from nothing in the kitchen.

He lifted everything carefully; having got Azzam off to bed the last thing he needed was to drop everything and wake him again. It was not a injudiciously placed cup or misbalanced container that nearly caused him to spill half-brewed coffee all over the carpet but his own visceral reaction to Nicholas idly perusing the bookshelf.

The long lines of his body could not be fully hidden by the loose polo shirt and were hinted at teasingly by the tailored slacks. It took Mark longer than he liked to drag his gaze up from the tight swell of buttocks to the strong shoulders and pale neck topped by the golden head. There was something disconcerting about the way the lights caught on Nicholas' blond hair, the artificial bulbs painting him with Drambuie-highlights, warm, honey-rich and intoxicating. They condensed on the fine ends into a fuzzy, burnished, and totally unwarranted halo. There was something beautiful and fragile about the moment, knowing that so much as a breath would be enough to shatter it and yet the strength of it would stay with him, an amber bead of memory to be strung and preserved.

Then Nicholas looked over and the unassuming blue eyes met his, making Mark ask himself all the questions that Nicholas wasn't asking.

"You have quite a collection," Nicholas commented when Mark didn't say anything.

"Thank you." Mark remembered how to talk. "Not that I have much time to read, these days."

He put the tray down on the side table as Nicholas returned to his seat, rearranging the content for something to do as much as preparation. He was acting like a teenager with a crush and in the light of his own age and their shared experiences it was beyond acceptable. And more than a little embarrassing. It wasn't as if Nicholas had given him any reason to believe that this was anything other than what it was; two old colleagues catching up. But, still, he couldn't bring himself to look at Nicholas, knowing how much he would give away if he did.

"You're sure about my staying over?" Nicholas' soft voice pulled him back from his thoughts. He had always been too damn perceptive; it made him good at his job but could be maddening in other circumstances, especially when Mark had something he wanted to hide.

"It will mean a lot to Azzam." It wasn't a lie.

Mark turned away to get the whisky from the cabinet, hating himself for his cowardice and half-wishing that Nicholas would call him on it. The ridges of the cut-glass tumblers, gripped too hard for comfort, exacted penitence as he made the pilgrimage back.

He passed over the glass and their fingers brushed, a fleeting touch that was nothing more than an accident of circumstance and was over before Mark was fully aware that it had happened. And that was all it was. He could do this, Mark realised. There was, literally, nothing to it. He was tying himself in knots over something which had already been offered; Nicholas' friendship. He was attracted to Nicholas, but it was not that which gnawed at him; attraction was a natural part of life. Rather, that while it had been a long time since he had deliberately pursued a sexual relationship, it had been even longer since he had invited the intimacy of a friendship. Not since James, and one only had to look how that had ended.

What was it Nicholas had said to him when he had admitted to his liaison with Jane? 'Just tell me next time.' As a reproach went it was astonishingly light and yet, here again, Mark was having trouble finding the words to make any sort of personal comment because 'Nicholas' and 'personal' were two things that he had never let himself correlate even now the reasons for that division were gone. For someone who had made their career finding the right thing to say he seemed to lose all his eloquence when it came to himself. Luckily, words were not always required. He found himself smiling at Nicholas and Nicholas smiled back. If there was any remaining hint of unease, it dissolved in the companionable appreciation of the Scotch, both men toasting the other silently as they lifted their glasses.

"How is he?" Nicholas asked as the warm silence settled around them.

Mark savoured the rich taste of the whisky. "Better than he should be, all things considered," he told his glass honestly. "Better than me some of the time." He looked up, catching Nicholas' understanding expression. "I don't know what you said to him at James' funeral but I think it really helped."

"It was nothing," Nicholas demurred. "Sometimes you just need to know you aren't alone." His glass clunked slightly as he set it down.

For a moment Mark puzzled over Nicholas' meaning, distracted by the uncharacteristic clumsiness of the gesture, and then it struck him. "God, Nicholas, I didn't think. I'm sorry about..."

"Don't." Nicholas stopped him with a small wave of his fingers. "He made his own choices and he knew what he was getting himself into."

Nicholas shrugged the past away dismissively. Mark wished it was as easy for him as Nicholas made it seem. A large part of Mark honestly hated Styles. He liked to think it was for all the death and suffering that the man had been not just complicit in but an instigator of, rather than because he had been able to take advantage of an opportunity that Mark hadn't had. The latter was only in the loneliest hours of the night when decisions, both political and personal, weighed down on him more heavily than normal and he wished he had someone to talk things out with. He'd stopped lying to himself about who that 'someone' was a few months after Jane had left.

He finished preparing the coffee on automatic, trying to find the right words. "I'm sorry you couldn't save him," he said carefully.

Nicholas looked away first. "He always was too clever for his own good. Stupid bastard." The soft, almost wistful, tone denied the harshness of the words.

The coffee was a little too hot when Mark tried it, burning the lie from his lips before it slid harshly down his throat. He added a little more milk to his cup, hoping to soothe the slightly bitter taste that it had left in his mouth.

"You miss him?"

"Occasionally," Nicholas admitted obliquely, "it's nice to have someone to go home to."

Mark could certainly understand that. "Someone who knows the score," he agreed. So many times he had found himself grateful that he hadn't had to explain himself to Jane, even if ultimately they had realised that their lives were at different points and hers took her away. He tried his coffee again. The extra milk had definitely done the trick.

Nicholas looked at him curiously. "How did you know about Christopher?" he asked, diverting the conversation away from painful confessions.

Mark thought back. When had he known? He'd guessed there was someone long before he had guessed who, something about the slight twinkle that Nicholas had gained in his eyes, a shift in tension and even the occasionally satisfied smile that had slipped through. It had been subtle, subtle enough that in the hotbed of gossip that was the embassy Nicholas' apparently existent sex life had not, to his knowledge, made it to coffee break speculation, but Mark had worked with Nicholas closely enough that he had wondered at the change. He hadn't thought it had been love, for some reason he had never been able to divine, but he had been happy for the other man. The 'who' hadn't registered until much too late.

"I'd suspected you were seeing someone for a while, but dragging me out of bed at half-two, still in the same suit you had left in, with hunches of dubious providence..." Was that the professional who wanted to know or the man, Mark wondered but dared not ask. "Bit of a give away, Nicholas."

Not quite the truth; even then he had only suspected that Nicholas' lover was involved just as he had suspected Nicholas was, but the list of suspects had been long. It was only when Nicholas had, gun to his head, admitted who he had destroyed the evidence in front of that Mark had known, and even then the knowledge hadn't truly sunk in until later.

"I didn't think you noticed with everything else that was going on." Nicholas smiled ruefully, drawing a unmalicious chuckle from Mark.

"I always noticed," Mark assured him carelessly.

Nicholas' mouth twitched with good humour over the rim of his coffee cup. "Now that," Nicholas echoed Mark's own thoughts, "could be taken the wrong way."

"Or the right way." The words were out before Mark had consciously made the decision to say them. He wasn't sure which of them was more surprised.

"Mark?" Nicholas' face was a blank canvas upon which Mark could paint his own doubts.

"I'm sorry." What had he been thinking? "That was inappropriate." He knew better.

"More... unexpected," Nicholas corrected. "I didn't mean to imply it was necessarily unwelcomed." The smile was definitely back, taking on a teasing note that was both apology and invitation to join in the joke. "So, you noticed me?"

Mark laughed, embarrassment gone. "Fishing for compliments?" His coffee, cooler now, was rich and smooth on his tongue, redolent of the relaxed review sessions that had often followed embassy dinners. "Another glass of that wonderful wine you brought and you might get them."

They both ignored the glasses of whisky, neither quite finished nor abandoned, that sat between them.

There was a hint of challenge in the appraising look that Nicholas swept over Mark, the conclusion revealed in his smile which was appreciative enough to be more than flattering, but his tone was lightly meaningless. "Let me get the bottle."

Mark felt himself colouring slightly under Nicholas' regard. "How come I never saw this side of you at the embassy?"

He'd seen Nicholas' charm enough times at official events or with visitors, a disarming fallacy that invariably worked in his favour. But while Mark had not ever had it directed towards him, instinct (or possibly just his own hope) assured him that this was something different, something real.

The seriousness was back in Nicholas' voice as he said, "Too damn dangerous." Mark mentally kicked himself for having broken the mood but Nicholas gave him the crooked smile that made Mark suspect he knew exactly what Mark was thinking. "It was my job to keep you clean," Nicholas explained unselfconsciously, "not see if you could be... compromised."

Mark raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Is that what they're calling it these days? That seems needlessly old-fashioned."

"That," Nicholas pointed out with a fond, but dismissive, practicality, "is the idealist speaking."

Mark pulled a face. "I wondered where I had lost him all those years," he said flippantly, a little disgruntled that he had no immediate counter for Nicholas' accusation.

"I don't believe you ever lost him, Mark," Nicholas disagreed, little furrows appearing across the bridge of his nose as he thought back. They cleared suddenly and a spark of mischief glinted in his eyes. "Although you chose a hell of a time to dust him off again."

The mischief was infectious. "Didn't I just?" Mark had thought it would be years yet before he could look back on what had happened in Washington with anything close to equanimity let alone amusement but there had been a horrible absurdity about the whole thing. And, yes, there had been a bit of a thrill lurking in the depths as crises, intrigue and ideology took over his life. He hadn't gone into politics for the power but there was an adrenalin rush in seizing opportunities when they were presented, in pulling off desperate gambles and in outmanoeuvring one's opponents. Not that it had been a pleasant experience for anyone, so much needless loss and so many lives ruined, but it was a times like that, when the lines in the sand had been drawn for you, that you found out who your friends were. "Don't think I didn't realise what would have happened if we hadn't been working together. I wouldn't have had a chance. I don't believe I ever thanked you for that."

It had all been such a whirl at the end. The night with Jane becoming a chase that led him to Nicholas' door. The right place but for the wrong reasons. He had been so damn angry at Nicholas, so sure that he had been betrayed. Standing there, Nicholas' blood smeared across his knuckles and ready to pull the trigger... They had pulled the whole house of cards down, the three of them.

Then it was nominally over and, as well as the political repercussions, there were Azzam and Jane to deal with, both of whom had needed him as Nicholas didn't. Nicholas had just faded back into the consulate machine; one more cog among the many, going about his business so quietly and unremarkably while the more squeaky wheels at the embassy demanded attention. By the time everything had calmed down enough for Mark to think, Nicholas was back in London and a bright young man of Anglo-Indian descent with an Oxbridge accent and a strong background in Eastern European politics was sitting at his desk.

"Just doing my job." Nicholas brushed the compliment aside as unnecessary. It might have been to him but it wasn't to Mark.

"How much trouble did you really get in, Nicholas?" he asked suspiciously. Just because circumstances had changed he didn't believe Nicholas would stop withholding information from him, for his own good of course.

"The agency takes a pragmatic view," Nicholas shrugged, unconcerned. "If the outcome had been different we would both have found ourselves tendering our resignations." A grin flashed briefly. "We might even have found ourselves sharing the same ward. As it was, everyone's back was against the wall. I offered them a way out and got their qualified, and retroactively less qualified, approval."

"You took a risk," Mark argued.

It was a echo of those heady, crazy days all over again, the tension that had flared, sharp and deadly, between them settled to a companionable trust that pitted them against the world. He'd missed that. His bond with Jane had been forged in war and hadn't survived the peace, while the one between Nicholas and himself they had both held in check.

Nicholas' expression was convivial, tone intimate as he compromised. "We both did."

"Do you ever regret that we didn't take another? If we had been together..." It was out there, said. The thing that they never talked about. Biting his tongue couldn't bring the words back and having finally said them Mark found he didn't want to take them back even if he could have.

"That's the idealist talking again." Nicholas shook his head sadly. "You would just have been even more sure that I was using you to further my own agenda."

"You think that I would have believed that?" Mark said in surprise. If they had just talked to each other earlier...

Nicholas frowned, leaning forwards with an intensity that Mark rarely saw in him. "You would have been right," he said so flatly Mark couldn't find it in himself to question the claim. As much as he might have wished otherwise, the quietly emphatic nature of Nicholas' declaration would not allow him any leeway to doubt that it was anything but the truth. "As soon as we found ourselves in a situation where personal relations had to come second to the public good then they would have," Nicholas' eyes were hard as he spoke. "They did. That or hand in my resignation." His expression softened and he spoke with what Mark thought was sympathy although it did little to assuage his miserable enlightenment. "Besides, you had Jane," Nicholas encouraged, "and I had... my job to do."

"Jesus, Nicholas," Mark whispered, his voice unintentionally harsh as it all hit him. "That wasn't all it was, was it?"

"No," Nicholas agreed softly, "it wasn't."

Mark felt his stomach catch in his throat. "I'm sorry." He scrubbed his hand over his eyes before letting it flop back into his lap. "I seem to be putting my foot in it this evening." He sighed, knowing Nicholas' point had made itself. "I'm not sure about compromised, but you're right, it would have complicated things."

"Mark." Nicholas' hand was warm as he reached forward and covered Mark's. Apology waited for him, unsaid, in Nicholas' face when he looked up. "Maybe you weren't the one who risked being compromised."

Nicholas was looking at him with those clear blue eyes that saw so much and revealed so little. They were blue like the sky was blue, hiding the vastness of space behind them and Mark couldn't look away because at the right times, if you were lucky, you could still catch a glimpse of the stars glittering beyond.

"I don't believe you ever had so much as a compromised thought in your life." He hadn't meant that to sound quite as bitter as it came out.

"I'd better not disillusion you then." The slightly self-mocking response surprised a lot of the ill-humour from him and, seeing the tease dancing in Nicholas' eyes, the rest of the tension fell away. Nicholas squeezed his hand briefly before withdrawing his own. For a moment Mark was tempted to stop him but reaching over the coffee table was hardly a comfortable, or dignified, position and he had no desire to inflict it on Nicholas for longer than necessary no matter how much he had enjoyed the contact.

"Go on," Mark encouraged instead. "This I want to hear." Nicholas was suppressing a smile like it was a Cabinet secret that the tabloids had got wind of and it was making Mark very curious, among other things. "Name one time you had a compromising thought while on the job."

The grin leaked out. "Now who's fishing for compliments?"

"I'm a single parent whose idea of an exciting evening is not reading the reports that the sadists on my staff send me home with," Mark lamented, with exaggerated pathos. "I need all the compliments I can get."

Nicholas laughed, clearly not believing a word of it.

"I bet they can't get enough of you at the PTA meetings."

That was unsettlingly accurate; not that Mark was about to admit it. That was the real social ramification of more single parent families; school events suddenly became a dating opportunity and the offer of a cup of tea and a biscuit rather more sexually charged. Mark had never considered just how suggestive an offer of a Hobnob could become. Although, these days, that was a large part of his social life.

"A bit of a change from embassy dinners," he mused, forgetting that Nicholas could not actually follow his thought paths.

Nicholas smirked. "Oh, you were a hit at those as well; black tie suited you."

"And I thought I was invited for my after-dinner speeches," Mark demurred, slightly embarrassed and more than a little flattered. He could feel the return of the easy repartee they had been slipping into before things had become unintentionally serious and welcomed it with a sip of his Scotch.

"I'm sure your eloquence contributed," Nicholas assured him blithely but with little conviction.

"But?" Mark prompted, hearing the silent word lurking at the end of Nicholas' sentence as clearly as if it had been broadcast on national television.

Nicholas' eyes flicked down briefly. "It also looked very hot in those suits."

"My... " Mark stared at him in disbelief as he put Nicholas' response together. "Really?" A small bubble of delight raised his curiosity like a helium balloon.

"The staff," Nicholas informed him earnestly, "had a long-running pool based on watching the reactions of the guests when we were hosting. I think half my job was running interference on the divorcees and a few others who should have known better. And that is totally separate from the book the political pundits were running on whether you were one of DC's most eligible bachelors or one of her most eligible gay bachelors. I believe a few people cleaned up quite nicely when your relationship with Jane became publicly known."

"But not you?" Mark asked, suspicious. He didn't exactly know what was in his MI6 file but he could make some educated guesses and he had to assume that Nicholas had read it.

"Professional ethics restrained me." Nicholas paused for a second. "And they weren't accepting each-way bets."

Mark choked slightly on the last of his malt as he caught the twinkle in Nicholas' poker-face.

"I don't know whether to be flattered or appalled." The flattered was definitely winning out though, at least now that it was over. It wasn't as if he hadn't noticed a number of forays in his direction, but at the time hiding behind official ignorance had often saved embarrassment all around even if it did result in a number of rumours of dubious inaccuracy.

"Take it as that compliment you wanted," Nicholas suggested helpfully. "More?" He nodded to Mark's now empty glass.

"That," Mark said with emphasis as he passed the tumbler over, "wasn't quite what I was hoping for."

Nicholas stood smoothly, threading his way around the furniture to the cabinet where Mark kept the spirits and liqueurs for those few times he did entertain.

"Would it help if I told you my motives were not entirely professional?" he asked over his shoulder.

A lot of the oxygen appeared to have suddenly deserted the room, taking the moisture from his mouth with it and Mark was absurdly glad that Nicholas wasn't looking at him. "Oh?" he managed.

Nicholas didn't respond until he had poured the drinks and returned.

"Oh yes" he handed Mark his and made himself comfortable, "better than 'gaydar' for finding an interested date..."

Mark gaped as the sheer gall, and blatant untruth, of Nicholas' claim sunk in. Mark was sure he had been used by MI6 many times in his career, but as a pick-up lure was not one of them.

"Now I know you are having me on," he accused.

"Only a little," Nicholas acknowledged, unrepentant. "You did look good in formal dress."

It was hard not to remember those times with a certain amount of nostalgia. Washington, especially, had been a carousel of social engagements decked out with more black tie and careful choreography than Strictly Come Dancing. A few words in the right ears, unofficial meetings paving the way for official ones, an introduction here and a 'gentleman's' agreement there - that was what made the diplomatic world go around. And threaded throughout all the glitter and appointed finery were the quiet men and women who ghosted the back corridors of power because it gave them a chance to listen at the right keyholes. In Nicholas' case, a very suave and well-turned out spook.

"You didn't look bad yourself." Mark felt he owed him at least a little teasing in return. "The French deputy ambassador asked about you a few times, you know."

Mark wished he was good enough to read whether there was interest under Nicholas' curiosity. "Which one?"

"Mademoiselle Renaulte, I'm afraid." The formidable lady had spent a significant part of her career based at the French embassy in Moscow during the Cold War and had, in Mark's opinion, probably spent a lot of that time scaring the shit out of the Soviets. He had never quite worked out if her posting to Washington had been a reward for her in the lead up to her retirement, a strategic move on the part of the French government to get her as far away from them as possible or a threat to the Americans.

"Ah well," Nicholas said philosophically. "DGSC. Mossad at least had the decency to send agreeable young men when they wanted my attention without drawing everyone else's."

Mark restrained himself from asking just how agreeable they had been. It was none of his business after all. He'd had a few run-ins with Mossad agents himself during his Middle Eastern postings and they hadn't all been as enjoyable as Nicholas' apparently had.

"The souls of discretion," he agreed sardonically.

The word 'discretion' seemed to strike a chord in Nicholas' memory as the corners of his mouth twitched. "Remember that embassy dinner where the wife of the, who was it, the Italian ambassador was very taken with you?"

Like Mark could ever have forgotten. "Taken with me? She wouldn't leave me alone. Until I ducked into the bathroom for a few minutes and then she was nowhere to be found." Which at the time he had just been thankful for. Now, however, he was sensing the intercession of more than divine providence. "You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, would you?"

Nicholas played with the cup in his hands slightly, tipping it so the glass caught the light in different patterns, and the meniscus cut a tangent at weird angles; a pose so studied that it was ready to graduate with top honours. "I might have introduced her to a rather handsome young aide who had heard about the decadent and immoral western women and was very much hoping to meet one." He flashed a smile which held more than a tinge of irony. "I rather think the ambassador's wife was taken with the fantasy of plumbing previously untapped depths."

Mark raised his eyebrows, wondering what he was missing. "Was that a note of disapproval I heard?"

"Not disapproval," Nicholas corrected, "so much as cynicism. While I couldn't personally swear to the plumbing in question I would have laid money that the young man's depths had been well tapped on many occasions. I didn't mention that to the lady in question and all concerned seemed appropriately grateful."

Mark tried to remember what what concessions they had managed to wheedle out of whom following that particular event.

"I think I know which diplomatic aide you are talking about." His own mouth stretched into a smile as a few things slipped into place in his memory. "And which diplomat."

Nicholas tapped one finger to the side of his nose.

"How come I only get to hear all the good gossip now?" Mark complained lightly.

It wasn't as if he hadn't been aware that there had been whole levels of international negotiations that he was not involved in; practically every stratum of the political machine from the secretarial stuff up had their own complex dealings with others in similar positions. He had been kept informed with what it was thought he needed to know, and normally before he needed to know it.

"Constraints of circumstance," Nicholas apologised and he wasn't, Mark realised, just talking about withholding information.

Nicholas had been right earlier about the practicalities but... "Sometimes I think we were entirely too concerned with propriety."

"Don't say that," Nicholas chided softly. "It was about the only thing that stopped me from following you into that damn bathroom to finish what La Bella Donna started."

"Nicholas!" It wasn't so much surprise as the rush of lust that tightened Mark's voice. He could imagine with frustrating clarity what would have happened if Nicholas had. He'd been half-hard when he'd ducked away; while he hadn't been interested, the lady in question had been very beautiful and he had not been entirely immune to her charms. Had Nicholas guessed that? He had thought the jacket of his suit had covered any sins. At the time he had just thought himself lucky that chance had blessed him with ten minutes to himself; even then he should have known better.

"Shocked?" Nicholas teased, but there was an faint undercurrent of nervousness tingeing his voice.

Mark had wanted a compromising thought; he had certainly got one. He shifted in his seat, finding a more comfortable position. "Wishing you had. Christ, Nicholas. I thought I had something on my suit the way you were looking at me."

"You nearly did," Nicholas said. Mark could remember what it had felt like to have Nicholas' strong body pressed against his, even if it had been wholly innocent at the time and in very unfavourable circumstances. In another situation things could have been very different. Nicholas must have been thinking the same thing as he began, "If we hadn't been working together..." then stopped, leaving the rest unsaid.

So many ifs. So many good reasons and even a few bad ones. But that had been then and Mark wasn't sure he wanted to waste another opportunity since one appeared to have arisen. It wasn't what he had intended for the evening, at least he didn't think it had been, but he wasn't about to say 'no' if Nicholas was willing to say 'yes'.

"And now?" He tried not to hang any unfair expectations on those two simple words.

"Now we aren't working together," Nicholas agreed with equal blandness.

It was astounding how such an unassuming sentence could cause such a feeling of anticipation; maybe it was the way he and Nicholas were looking at each other, neither seeing anything but the man across from them. There had been no outward indication of change of which Mark was consciously aware, just a sudden feeling of expectation that raised the hair on the back of his neck. It was the prickle of excitement he got at a summit just before an agreement was reached; it was also as much of an invitation as he was about to get.

"Would you mind if I kissed you?" The question sounded horribly formal and prosaic.

Nicholas coughed slightly, covering what Mark thought might have been a laugh. "Mind is not the expression that springs to mind," Nicholas replied, standing up.

For a moment Mark feared that he had misunderstood and Nicholas was going to leave. "Nicholas?"

Walking the two steps required to bring them closer, Nicholas reached out and cupped Mark's cheek gently, tipping his face up. Slowly he bent down and kissed Mark. Careful at first, contact building as both men realised it was really happening. Mark parted his lips, deepening the kiss, as Nicholas slid down to one knee, levelling their heights. Somehow Nicholas' fingers ended up tangling through his hair, cradling him close, but close was where he wanted to be. His own arms had fallen to Nicholas' waist, hands kneading his back and rucking up the material of his polo shirt to feel the warm, smooth skin beneath. Mark was half off the sofa himself before the kiss ended, body pressed against Nicholas' as they tried to disprove the laws of physics and occupy as much of the same space as they could.

"God, Nicholas." Mark endeavoured to get his breath back. "Is there anything you don't do well?"

"Not if I can help it," Nicholas admitted huskily.

Mark found he had nothing to say to that but, "I believe you," and kissed him again. Talking could be over-rated.

Discomfort caused them to separate eventually. The living room floor might be a perfectly reasonable place to make out when a teenager but, thankfully, neither he nor Nicholas were in the first bloom of youth any longer and alternate options were available to them. A definite blessing, as Mark suspected getting caught by one's son, biological or otherwise, was no less embarrassing than being interrupted by one's parents, even if kissing was the only thing occurring.

"Do you want to..?" Mark began, making a vague gesture towards where the stairs were located. They drew apart slightly, needing that small distance to talk without falling into each other once more. "I don't know what the right form is here."

It really had been too damn long. There hadn't been anyone since Jane left and Mark didn't want to even think how long it had been since he had last had a male lover. Nicholas was not the first by any stretch of the imagination, but they had been a rare and infrequent departure from the complex simplicity of dating women.

"What do you want, Mark?" Nicholas seemed intent on making Mark dictate the pace and he wondered why. Nicholas had never struck him as particularly reticent in making his desires known when he chose to share them, his personal reserve a cultivated habit rather than any shyness or inhibition. Shy was definitely not a description that could ever apply to Nicholas.

"You." Nicholas' deflection concerned Mark slightly. "If you're interested." Even after the intensity of the kisses he didn't want to presume on Nicholas' intentions beyond that point.

Nicholas' warm hand found its way onto his thigh, reassuring in its gentle weight.

"Would I still be here if I wasn't?" Fingers stroked softly, underscoring Nicholas' words. "You're the one with the son upstairs."

So that was the problem. Mark let himself relax.

"Upstairs and, hopefully, asleep," he pointed out.

Nicholas sighed slightly and patted Mark's leg. Shifting to sit on the sofa, he drew Mark up with him by sympathetic symbiosis.

"Have you thought this through?" Nicholas asked seriously, although it had not escaped Mark's attention that Nicholas' hand had found his knee once more. "If word got out - even the suggestion of a secret gay affair could destroy your political career." If Mark was an idealist then Nicholas was definitely a cynic - it wasn't as if there were no openly gay MPs, even if none were currently in the Cabinet. He was about to point that out but Nicholas hadn't finished. "I'm not sure Britain is ready for a queer Prime Minister."

As if there hadn't been any already. But Mark knew what Nicholas meant and he had no real answer for it. Britain probably wasn't and it would have been pure disingenuousness for him to claim not to know his name had occasionally been mentioned in conjunction with that august post. Nor could he honestly claim that he would turn it down if the possibility arose. It was not ambition as such, more that, modesty aside, he felt that he could do a better job of it than a lot of the other possible candidates and therefore he had an obligation to the country not to let someone else bugger it up. He had still not entirely worked out if that was pure arrogance or an over-developed sense of duty - a career in the foreign office could engender either, or, indeed, both.

"Luckily, I'm still Foreign Secretary," he joked but his tone fell flat. He looked at Nicholas carefully, needing to know where they stood. "Are we talking a secret affair here?"

Nicholas' eyes slid shut briefly as if he was checking some internal memo for the official answer. "I'm not exactly cut out to be a politician's wife or a mother, Mark."

The thought of Nicholas trying to fill either role would have been funny if it hadn't been insulting to both of them. He hadn't asked Jane to give up anything for his sake, the idea was abhorrent, and Nicholas must have known that so why would he think that Mark would demand that of any partner, male or female? "Was I asking you to be?"

Nicholas' expression suggested that Mark was not getting his point. That at least was something familiar.

"You have Azzam to think of," Nicholas told him quietly. "Is anything less fair on him?"

'No,' Mark wanted to argue, 'and it isn't bloody fair on me either,' but fair was not something he or Nicholas expected from the world. It said something that, knowing what Azzam had been through, Nicholas wanted to create a few years of 'fair' for him before it was gone from his life as well. He had once asked Nicholas what sort of father he was going to be and Nicholas hadn't answered him; apparently Nicholas had decided he was going to be a good one.

"Then what is this?" He covered Nicholas' hand with his own, trapping it against his leg.

Nicholas' smile was a little twisted as he lent forwards. "Something that has been far too long in coming," he said and kissed him. Mark wanted to react, to deepen the contact and just lose himself in the moment but he couldn't put aside Nicholas' comments.

When he didn't respond, Nicholas pulled back, looking at him questioningly. "Mark?"

"Damn it," Mark whispered, as much to himself as to Nicholas. It was not about gender or sexuality. Not about their ambition or respective positions. There was absolutely nothing special about them; it was the dilemma of any single parent. Azzam had been through one break-up while under Mark's care. Could he enter into a casual relationship when the one thing that Azzam needed after losing his mother so young and his father, first to alcohol, and then to murder and the same conspiracy which had taken his mother and uncle, was stability? Mark had not, he had to admit to himself, been thinking about a casual relationship but it seemed that was all that had been on offer. If it was... "You're right," Mark said grudgingly,"I don't like it, but you are right. Azzam has to come first but, damn it, you mean more to me than a one night stand."

The spark of anger fizzled out as he got to the end of the concession, leaving behind ashes in his mouth.

Nicholas drew gentle fingers across Mark's cheek, meeting his eyes with a startling openness which was just wrong from Nicholas and made Mark want to tell him to stop. "You think you don't to me?"

Maybe not so casual after all.

"I was never sure," Mark admitted, and for some reason the words seemed to catch in his throat. Maybe it was the suspicion that it was not indifference that held Nicholas back which was strangling his voice.

"If I didn't have the highest respect for you," Nicholas assured him, "I wouldn't have said anything."

He remembered what it had been like realising he was in love with Saida, of falling into the relationship with Jane when he had thought that he had forgotten what that was like and now, now he had no idea what was happening or what it meant. In circumstances like that he expected Nicholas to be sitting across from him and confusing him further.

"Respect, Nicholas?"

"Not just respect," Nicholas admitted reluctantly, "but you know what my job is. I don't want to have to lie to you, or to Azzam."

That was more than he had ever expected Nicholas to say, perilously close to a declaration, and Mark hadn't even been holding a gun on him. The question was whether Nicholas would risk a friendship. Mark thought of his own doubts about that selfsame thing earlier in the evening, misgivings which apparently Nicholas shared, although for different reasons.

"You'll keep in touch even if we never do this again?" To lose the chance of a physical element to their relationship was a frustration, but a passing one; to lose the chance of any relationship at all was unthinkable now that he had found Nicholas again. "I'm assuming we are still going to do this, right?"

"Yes," Nicholas smiled crookedly at him, "to both, if you still want."

Mark smiled back. "So kiss me. We can deal with the rest when it happens, or doesn't. At least you know the worst of it." He gave Nicholas a hard look. "And so do I."

His severity melted quickly as Nicholas followed his instruction. This time Mark let himself relax into the kiss and by the time they drew apart dignity had been discarded on the floor along with Mark's sweater.

"Maybe you should show me that guest room," Nicholas suggested, breathlessly.

Mark didn't even bother wasting his time answering, just stood up (which required some untangling), grabbed his jumper as well as Nicholas, and led the way.

Halfway up the stairs, both men pulled themselves together and adopted a more subdued mien. Reaching the landing Nicholas hung back and waited quietly while Mark took a moment to listen outside Azzam's room. Hearing nothing Mark peeked in and was reassured to see the boy was sound asleep. Despite his insistence that he wasn't tired, Azzam had dropped off almost as soon as he had got to bed. Mark knew he had an unforgivably sappy look on his face as he carefully drew Azzam's door closed but he wasn't about to apologise for that. Nicholas, watching him, seemed willing to tolerate any eccentricities where Azzam's best interests were concerned and probably understood that Mark would rest easier for the verification that all was well with the younger half of their household.

As soon as Mark shut the door to the spare room behind them, Nicholas was there, body heat enveloping him even as Nicholas' arms came around him. There was a slight strangeness of being held by someone taller than himself, but it paled into insignificance against the sheer comfort of being held by someone at all, and holding them in return. He had managed to forget how good it was to be held before Jane reminded him what it was to be human. It was probably a sign of irredeemable middle age but he had missed that more than the sex. Even as he thought about it, it occurred to Mark that Nicholas had pretty much initiated every physical interaction so far and that that just wouldn't do at all. Mark decided he had some evening up to perform and catching Nicholas' head he pulled him down for a kiss. Like that, the difference in height really wasn't that far.

They staggered back towards the bed, stealing kisses between every step because it felt so good just to touch and neither of them wanted to miss a moment. They had waited so damn long and, now, having started they couldn't seem to stop, begrudging so much as a breath of air if it came between them. They barely made time to separate as Nicholas hauled Mark's t-shirt over his head. It snagged slightly before they got it off and they laughed at their combined clumsiness even as they came together again, their laughter distorting their kisses. Nicholas' fingers drew lines of sensation over his skin, parallel tracks that ran across his back and spiralled into a conflagration of kneading caresses before setting off again to explore a new area. His own hands were making their own discoveries, fighting the loose material of Nicholas' top for territory. He was quite proud that he remembered to undo the couple of buttons at the neck of the shirt before that too was removed with the flourish of a magician doing the old tablecloth trick and found a temporary home on the carpet.

Mark could not stop the slight hiss of response as Nicholas sucked on the side of his neck, not hard enough to mark but a merciless assault to which Mark could only tip his head back in encouragement and try to remember how to breath when Nicholas was evidently siphoning the air off through his skin. When Nicholas' tongue started skilfully outlining the join of muscle and collar bone he had had all he could take and with ungentle prompting directed Nicholas up, devouring the teasing, tempting mouth as soon as it became available.

They stopped as they bumped into the side of the bed, their momentum temporarily halted. Breathing deeply, Mark took the chance to really look at the man in his arms. Nicholas had clearly continued to work out even with a desk job to keep him sedentary; there was a dangerous sleekness to him that was as much attitude as physicality. Body hair, a few shades darker than on his head or the sun-bleached gilding on his arms, was scarce but what there was ran tantalisingly from just below his navel, down the flat belly, to disappear behind the waistline of his remaining clothes. A stray and irreverent thought occurred to Mark and he wondered if Nicholas waxed. It seemed more likely that it was nature that had sculpted his chest to be smooth and austere.

Mark felt a little self-conscious about the outward spread of his own physique, but Nicholas didn't seem to care as he looked Mark over in return, an admiring smile suggesting he was perfectly satisfied with what he saw. Mark met his eyes, aware of their mutual regard and a little embarrassed by the way his own gaze kept slipping down to where the obvious swell of Nicholas' erection distorted the light material of his trousers. It looked good, even through the cloth, but it was hard to break the feeling that he owed Nicholas the courtesy of looking him in the face.

"You want to take this further?" Mark asked, finally managing to talk to somewhere above Nicholas' crotch.

"No," Nicholas said composedly, "I thought I'd get dressed and head off."

"Bastard," was all Mark had time for and then they were on the bed wrapped around each other and playfully vying for control.

Mark didn't put up much of a struggle, too distracted by the delicious frisson as their bodies brushed together to resist and enjoying the feeling of Nicholas pressing him onto the bed too much to want it any other way. Nicholas held him lightly enough that Mark knew he could be free any time he desired. Not that he could think of any reason why he might desire it, as all his desires were, at that moment, focused in an entirely different direction. As well as pinning his wrists either side of his head, Nicholas was straddled across his hips and the feel of the tight muscles of Nicholas' arse as it moved against his groin was both heaven and hell. Mark shivered at the breath hot against his neck as Nicholas nibbled a path along his throat to his ear.

"I know what you were thinking earlier," Nicholas whispered, "but I didn't have sex with any of the Mossad boys." He shifted with deliberate intent and Mark couldn't have cared less if he had slept with half the Middle East as long as he didn't stop. "While a bit of mistrust can add spice, I make it a rule never to go to bed with an agent when I don't know what they want from me."

Nicholas' feline grin was less than trust-inspiring, although it did make Mark want to help clean the metaphorical cream from his whiskers.

"Really?" Mark forced out, refusing to allow Nicholas to distract him totally from logical thought. "Wouldn't you be included in that category?"

"Yes," Nicholas purred against his lips, licking them open so the sibilant vibrated through their joined mouths.

Mark bit back a groan but no more successfully than he stopped himself thrusting against Nicholas' weight. "So," he struggled on, trying to ignore his own reactions, "I just have to find out what you want. I'm sure we can come to a mutually agreeable arrangement."

Nicholas' kisses were drifting again, threatening to take Mark's mind with them.

"I'm sure we can," Nicholas encouraged, teeth scraping lightly over one peaked nipple.

Mark bucked slightly and found it encouraging when he got a growl of reaction in return. He would have hated to think he was the only one being affected by what was happening.

"In my experience," Mark managed, "good negotiation relies on knowing what position you're starting from and which you're willing to end up in."

Nicholas stopped his investigation of Mark's chest and looked up, which was hardly the response that Mark was hoping for. Nor was Nicholas' sliding his hands from Mark's arms to the bed although it did mean that Mark could run greedy fingers down Nicholas' back and having helped himself to two handfuls of firm buttock could hold Nicholas more firmly against him. Not that he thought that Nicholas would leave, but the warm weight of Nicholas' body as it pressed onto his erection was a beautiful torture.

"I guess it depends," Nicholas drawled, arching into Mark's touch, "on how flexible the parties are willing to be."

Mark felt as if his mouth was working on automatic, all that was real being the sparks of sensation that prickled his skin as Nicholas moved against him, cock brushing his with a delicious promise that layers of clothes couldn't fully muffle.

"I don't know about flexible..." Flexible had been lost a fair number of years ago along with the ability to work on nothing but three hours sleep and adrenalin or reach orgasm after a few minutes of dry humping. Some things were better left in the past. "But I'd certainly say 'Open to possibilities'."

Mark was so open to possibilities that he would probably have agreed to, or at least seriously considered, anything Nicholas suggested that didn't involve any bodily secretions not normally involved in sex, or erotic asphyxiation with fruit and ladies' underwear. The former he just couldn't see the appeal of, and the latter was just too clichéd and 1980s.

Nicholas' expression had a mischievous cast as he asked, "So what happens when neither party wants to take a hard line... negotiation-wise?"

The one downside of pulling Nicholas down so he could kiss him, hard, was that it meant letting go of other areas. Luckily Nicholas had his own plans, none of which included letting up on Mark one iota. The next few minutes were lost to mutual hunger.

"I think a mutually satisfactory outcome can be reached," Mark said when they finally parted enough for him to resume coherent speech. "Although, while the current situation has much to recommend it, I do have a few possible amendments..."

"Oh?" Nicholas said, pausing in his self-appointed task of tracing chaotic patterns onto Mark's flesh with lips and tongue. Mark hadn't really expected the softness of the short hair that brushed his cheek when Nicholas moved or how, at the nape of his neck where Mark cradled Nicholas' head, it felt like velvet under his fingers.

"I feel there are still some barriers between us that are hindering a completely free dialogue"

He slid the hand that had been around Nicholas' waist as far as it would go, which wasn't nearly far enough, into the gap between Nicholas' waistband and the small of his back. The waistband cut into his hand slightly and the elasticated top of Nicholas' underwear imprisoned his fingers but he could feel the beginning slope of each buttock as they climbed from his touch and, between them, the tailbone dip hinting at another trail which fell away beyond his reach.

"Oh, yes," Nicholas said in a voice that was one part laughter and two parts lust, "I can definitely agree to that."

He didn't point out that Mark was now the one holding him close and effectively preventing either of them shucking their last remaining garments for which Mark was grateful.

"And," Mark continued, "a slight shift in organisation could open up an integration strategy, not feasible as things lie..." He watched Nicholas' reaction carefully as he spoke. There was too much between them, and too little, for him to feel comfortable saying, 'Fuck me?' as he would if the night were nothing but sex or part of some greater commitment. "Assuming you're not set on the options currently presenting themselves?"

"You sure, Mark?" There was definite interest in Nicholas' expression but it was tempered by a concern that Nicholas did not bother to hide. They were both a little at sea, Mark realised, neither entirely sure of the other's boundaries or preferences and neither prepared to just forge ahead and to hell with the consequences.

"It's been a while," Mark conceded, seeing a little of the hesitancy disappear from Nicholas' face at the admission. He smirked in return, "I'm sure longer for me than you," he dared Nicholas to contradict him, "so I'm happy to just put myself in your hands." He had, after all, trusted Nicholas on much more vital and sensitive matters.

Nicholas didn't question him any further, just kissed him quickly and said, "Let me up then."

There was no grand unveiling as each man stripped his own trousers off, a practical necessity to be dispensed with but not lingered on.

"You realise," Mark said conversationally as he pulled his shoes and socks from his feet, "I am never going to be able to sit comfortably in a diplomatic conference again."

"It's a diplomatic conference," Nicholas pushed him gently back down to the bed and he spread his legs so Nicholas could settle between them, "you aren't supposed to be comfortable, you're supposed to keep the other side distracted while we do the real work. Condoms?"

Mark opened his mouth to answer and then realised he didn't have one. "Shit!" he said succinctly.

They stared at each other for a moment, hopelessly derailed.

"You weren't planning this?" Nicholas was clearly holding back the sudden laughter that was bubbling behind his eyes. That was, Mark thought, a little unfair. There was, after all, more than one interested party in the bed.

"I haven't exactly been doing a lot of entertaining lately," he defended. "I didn't think..." He looked at Nicholas hopefully. "You didn't..?"

Of the two of them Nicholas was the one that did ulterior motives and hidden agendas. If Nicholas hadn't come prepared then why did he think that Mark would be? Or was there an unwritten rule that Mark had forgotten that as host he was the designated seducer and therefore responsible for any necessities? He didn't remember that as having been the case but then women seemed to be governed by their own rules, in that as much as in everything else, and they were the mainstay of his experience in that area.

Nicholas shook his head, a certain rueful regret evident. "I didn't either." Whether he was talking about his lack of expectations or supplies Mark wasn't sure. "Still, we're intelligent men, I'm sure we'll think of something once we get going."

Mark pulled him back down so their bodies once more aligned. "Was that a hint?" he murmured.

"No," Nicholas kissed him, his erection sliding along Mark's as rocked forward, "that was a hint."

"Effective hint," Mark breathed and wrapped his legs more firmly around Nicholas', tilting his hips so that they could more comfortably thrust against each other, cocks brushing in the warm refuge between their stomachs.

They kissed deeply, exploring each other's mouths and bodies with a fierce passion. There was no need to rush when they could let the excitement between them build, spiralling up in a double-helix of sensation. Mark had wondered what it would be like, had imagined so many different things: fast and furious exchanges that were more porn movie than reality, elegant and romantic seductions, fierce, intense liaisons. If they had had more time, had months and years of shared nights rather than just the one, then maybe it would have been different but that one night was what they had allowed themselves and Mark intended to savour every lust-soaked moment of it. They didn't talk, communicating in groans and touches and choked-back cries. Moving incrementally faster, sweat slicking the passage of their cocks and allowing them to thrust harder and more wildly, Mark could not imagine anything more perfect.

Which just went to show that Nicholas had a much dirtier imagination than he did.

"Like this?" Nicholas asked breathily, the warm dampness of his breath caressing Mark's ear. "Or would you like me to suck you off?"

That took a second to register in Mark's brain. "Jesus," Mark gasped, grabbing Nicholas' hips tightly enough to still him until the spike of arousal settled.

Nicholas chuckled against him, the vibrations travelling through both their bodies and not making Mark's life any easier. "I take it, that was a yes."

"Yes, you bastard," Mark rolled them both over and Nicholas let him, "but not just yet."

Nicholas had had it far too much his own way and Mark was going to find out exactly what it took to make an MI6 trained spy incoherent. Nicholas just smiled.

He worked his way down Nicholas' body, enjoying the way Nicholas writhed under his touch. The tight, pink nipples yielded a pleasing moan, while tracing the neat oval of Nicholas' naval actually caused a giggle, a sound that Mark had not believed that the other man would ever make. Sweat and pre-come had left smeared snail-trails of dampness across Nicholas' stomach and he traced them with his fingers, Nicholas' muscles fluttering under the glide of slick fingers over taut skin. He followed the trail of hair south; Dorothy searching for her great and powerful wizard. What he found was much better, and, despite any suggestion from the surrounding pelt, no straw man either, to be knocked down with mere words.

"Please," Nicholas said softly, "or do you want me to beg?"

It was an interesting thought.

Taking pity, and not entirely unswayed by the knowledge that Nicholas would have his chance for revenge soon enough, Mark took Nicholas' cock in his hand and brought it to his mouth. Nicholas' groan was soft but heartfelt and one of his hands found Mark's shoulder, fingers gripping tightly and releasing in a stressed cadence. Despite the hold he made no move to direct Mark's movements, seemingly just needing the extra point of contact as Mark took more of him into his mouth. There was something really quite satisfying about that touch, that Nicholas felt the need for the contact and the connection. For himself, Mark enjoyed the closeness of Nicholas' cock sliding between his lips. It was hard against his tongue, unyielding in its penetration of his body, and Mark couldn't turn his mind from what it would have been like if it had not been his mouth into which it drove. The excitement of that thought spurred him onwards and he speared himself again and again on the strong flesh.

It had, as Mark had mentioned to Nicholas, been a while since he had been with another man, notwithstanding that he had last done this more recently than what they had been discussing at the time. It came back to him easily enough, although he kept one hand wrapped around the base as guide and depth gauge. It hadn't been so recent that he was ready to get too adventurous. Nicholas didn't appear to mind if Mark was any judge, his excitement revealed in the rough rasps that his breathing had become and the rigid tension of his body. A very polite companion, Nicholas held himself still and let Mark do as he would without interference. Which Mark did appreciate but he found that he was not in the mood for polite. They had had enough polite between them over the years.

Taking up the stroke with his hand, Mark transferred his focus to the furred balls, sucking the wrinkled skin into his mouth and massaging the solid orbs contained therein with tongue and lips. Nicholas' hand was forced from his shoulder as he moved away, Nicholas brushing a light caress over Mark's cheek as he withdrew it to clutch at the mattress in Mark's place. Mark let himself drift lower, wondering if would be stopped as he kissed and suckled on the soft skin of inner thighs and perineum. Rather than stopping him, Nicholas spread his legs further using the excuse of the movement to push himself more firmly into Mark's fist. Mark smiled against his leg and nipped him gently to let him know that his action had not gone unnoticed. The light graze of teeth caused Nicholas to buck again, much to Mark's delight.

A dribble of saliva snaked down Nicholas' skin and Nicholas shivered slightly as it passed close to the puckered entrance barely visible within its shadowed valley. Intrigued by the reaction, Mark followed it down, warming the chilled path with warm breath and probing tongue. Nicholas hissed something that might have been a word but was far beyond language, but the way he drew up a knee to tilt his hips towards Mark spoke volumes.

"Roll over and I'll do that properly. If you want?" Mark offered.

The look that Nicholas shot him in reply could only be described as downright filthy and definitely encouraging as he flipped himself over with all due speed. Mark ran his hand along Nicholas' flank, appreciating the long lines and trim figure as Nicholas rested comfortably on knees and elbows. Mark took a deep breath, he had been shown masterpieces that were not as much of a work of art as the sight of Nicholas kneeling in front of him. The temptation was there, or maybe just the desire, to take what was being offered to him so fully. Not that Mark would ever abuse that type of trust but he had never denied his own interest and now he had seen Nicholas spread out before him he wanted to spread him further, to open him up with fingers and cock and feel the tight grasp of Nicholas' body stretched around his.

He let his fingers run over the bunched muscles, pushing the firm flesh to and fro as it pleased him. Nicholas rumbled pleasure deep in his throat, presenting himself shamelessly. As was often the case with Nicholas it was the small things that meant so much and Mark found himself charmed by the little dimples on each arse-cheek. Unable to help himself, he dropped a kiss first on one then the other before placing a third at the base of the tailbone. Licking into the dip and pausing there to explore the soft curves and almost invisible, down-soft hair before scaling the cusp and plunging lower. With darting touches Mark mapped the valley that opened before him as he spread the creamy buttocks beyond what Nicholas' legs alone could manage. Nicholas groaned as Mark lapped at the tight ring of his anus, so Mark did it again.

Many years before, as a young man, Mark had reacted with a certain amount of disgust and horror when the idea had been put to him. That had lasted just as long as it had taken for him to find himself bent over his university desk, a tongue and two fingers up his arse and the essay under him no longer in any condition fit for submission. He had re-written the paper, returned the favour and the conversion was complete.

Now Mark ran his tongue over and along the folds of skin, following the swirl in to the centre of the iris and back to follow the circle of the supple border. He caressed the area with lips and mouth, feeling Nicholas give himself over completely to what he was doing. The butter-soft skin was soon slick and malleable, the ring of muscle guarding Nicholas' body yielding before his touch and allowing him ingress, an honour which Mark intended to make the most of. Stiff-tongued, he thrust into the opening, alternating his assault with licks and kisses until Nicholas rocked back unconsciously, instinctively, fucking himself on Mark's tongue as he worked.

Sure in the place that he had made for himself, Mark reached around and found Nicholas' erection, still slick with his spit, and began to stroke it. From the muffled sounds he had been making, Nicholas was attempting to smother himself with a pillow. The added stimulation of Mark's hand around his cock was all it took. Nicholas went absolutely still for a moment, ceasing even to breath in his silence, and then a fine shudder passed through him and he began to push as hard as the position allowed into Mark's fist. Abandoning his post with one last farewell swipe, Mark pulled Nicholas up and tight against him as he knelt back onto his heels. He pumped Nicholas' cock with rough, demanding strokes as Nicholas half-sagged into his arms. Nicholas came, his eyes closed and his head resting blissfully back on Mark's shoulder.

"Christ, Mark," Nicholas moaned, slightly hazily, "if I had known how good you are at that I'd have jumped you years ago and duty be damned."

Mark held him close, ignoring the semen covering his hand and the cooling strands that had slashed across Nicholas' belly and were now also smeared onto his arm. And the way that his own cock, neglected for too long, was pressed tauntingly in the smooth, slippery cleft of Nicholas' arse.

"I thought it went with the territory, being a politician," Mark joked, trying to take his mind off the demands of the feral part of his brain to just drop Nicholas down and rut to his own completion along the welcoming channel.

Nicholas turned his head far enough to kiss him softly. By the time he pulled away there was something close to sense becoming visible again in his eyes and when he tried to straighten up Mark let him. Nicholas swung his legs over the side of the bed and, on the second try, stood up. His knees beginning to complain as much as his cock, Mark swivelled around to sit on the side of the bed and watch what Nicholas was doing.

"I suppose voyeurism goes with being a spy?" Nicholas dug in the pockets of his discarded trousers and pulled out a pack of travel tissues. Returning to the bed he offered one to Mark.

Taking it thankfully, Mark wiped at the congealing fluid and grinned unmaliciously at Nicholas.

"Or just going behind people's backs," he suggested, balling up the paper. There was a bin in the corner but his throw wasn't even close.

"Don't malign going behind people's backs." Cleaner, Nicholas dropped the packet and used tissues on the night stand and stepped towards Mark purposefully. Mark's cock, needing little encouragement, twitched at the licentious and slightly predatory glide. "There's a lot of delicate work that can be done behind people's backs. That's the key to infiltration; you just have to do the right preparation and you can just slip right in."

Mark would have laughed but the sound caught in his throat. Nicholas was so clearly comfortable in his own skin and, as he was, still flushed from his recent orgasm and eyes sparkling, Mark was mesmerised. He hadn't quite made it to speech when Nicholas rejoined him. Bending down he caught Mark's erection, rubbing his thumb lightly over the damp head where it had pushed clear of its foreskin.

"Which is why," the foreskin was pushed down further and then returned as Nicholas cradled the plumped flesh, "you should always do your own prep; so you don't miss anything."

"Okay, okay." Mark tried, without much success, to force Nicholas to give him more stimulation. "Point made." He thought of the luscious promise of Nicholas' spit-opened arsehole, of the burning desire to be taken that had gripped him when Nicholas' cock filled his mouth. "Next time you bring the damn condoms. Trust me, I'm suffering enough."

For a moment the tease was gone. "We really didn't plan this well, did we?" Nicholas said softly, his hand stilled as he spoke. Mark wondered what thoughts had been going on in that opaque mind, suddenly sure that they had been similar to his own. "Tell me," Nicholas promised, "whatever you want."

Mark closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to decide what he did want.

"That offer you made earlier still good?" he asked.

The flicker of Nicholas' smile was a wonderful thing. "Of course."

Nicholas slipped down to his knees beside the bed and between Mark's thighs. He didn't tease, just swallowed Mark down with a swift surety which almost had Mark coming then and there. Nicholas took it gently at first, soothing Mark's frustration and allowing the arousal to build in a slow and joyous crescendo.

Time ceased to have meaning; all there was was the hot lick of Nicholas' tongue, the warm tease of his breath and the paradise of his mouth. One hand cupped Mark's balls, squeezing and pulling. Carefully at first as Nicholas familiarised himself with Mark's tastes.

The bob of the blond head between his legs was evocative. How many times had the thought sneaked into his head at the embassy? Of sitting behind his desk and finding out if oral sex in the office could be worth an impeachment. In the light of recent revelations he found himself remembering times when Nicholas' eyes had strayed or his mouth had twitched and new interpretations added fuel to his excitement.

Without intent, Mark raised one hand to stroke the short hair. Enjoying the feel of it and understanding in his own need why Nicholas had done something similar earlier. With the touch came full belief that this was Nicholas in front of him. Mark knew if he reached down he could stroke the hollowed cheeks, feel the damp seal of Nicholas' lips as they moved along his cock. That thought sent all others skittering off in bright fragments and he felt himself begin to crumble.

"Nic..." he stammered.

Nicholas gripped the shaft tightly with the hand that was not pressed hard behind his balls, moving his mouth up to suck hard on the head and Mark felt as if his entire existence began and ended in the electric surge that went from his cock to his balls. Mark bit back the grunt as he came, fucking Nicholas mouth with stuttering thrusts as rhythm was lost in the white-out of pleasure.

He came back to himself slowly, feeling better than he had in a long time. Looking down towards his benefactor he felt the warm glow inside him swell. Even if this was 'just once' it was not the empty completion of 'just sex'; he was here and Nicholas was here and between them was something precious. He still had Nicholas' head cradled in one hand, his fingers lightly petting along the curve of the skull without his realising and from the relaxed look on Nicholas' face as it rested against Mark's thigh he didn't mind at all.

Unhurriedly Nicholas stood up, putting out his hand to Mark. When he took it, Nicholas helped him up, pulling him close. Nicholas' lips were puffy and wet, reminders of what had been done. Mark licked his own, reaction to the invocation in the glistening pout. Their kisses now were long and slow, compassion rather than passion. Not letting go Nicholas reached down and shoved open the covers. They let themselves crumple, holding each other tight as they scuffled with the duvet to find a comfortable position. Mark found himself curled against Nicholas' side, his head high on Nicholas' chest. The steady thump-thump of Nicholas' heartbeat was almost more vibration than sound as it lulled him.

"Maybe next time we'll plan a little better?" Mark murmured drowsily.

There was a long pause before Nicholas replied. "Sure of yourself, aren't you?"

It wasn't a 'no' Mark noted vaguely. "Not where you're concerned."

Nicholas didn't say anything at all.

Languid and exhausted, Mark felt himself slip into a satisfied doze.

"Mark..?" Nicholas' low voice insinuated its way into his semi-conscious state. "You should go to your room."

Mark groaned, only half awake and already not liking the suggestion.

"I know," Nicholas' fingers stroked through his hair, soothing him, "but you know I'm right."

Mark forced his eyes open, unwilling to dispute the point when he wasn't awake enough to see. Nicholas kissed him, a lazy, sleepy kiss that reassured Mark that Nicholas really didn't want him to leave and stole all the arguments he could have made.

He wasn't sure how he made himself get up, gather his clothes and find his way back to his own bed but the cold clasp of empty sheets assured him he had managed it. In their lonely embrace he fell asleep and dreamed of warm arms around him.

There weren't really such things as lie-ins when you had young kids and while Azzam would probably have disputed the 'young' he was certainly young enough for that adage to be applicable. Had Mark not been alone in his bed then it might have been harder to throw off the agreeable languor which clung to him. He stretched in bed, enjoying the feel of just being, of his skin bushing against the bedclothes and the slight arousal of a morning erection. In another life someone, Nicholas, would be here and sharing those things with him, one slow awakening followed by another and more intimate one. This was the life he had chosen, however, so Mark forced himself out of bed and into a shower.

Awake and dressed, Mark knocked on Nicholas' door. He told himself it was to offer the other man a loan of clothes should he want a change and to enquire what he liked for breakfast. He almost believed it as well. As it was, he was slightly disappointed when there was no answer but, as he reminded himself firmly, Nicholas was under no obligation to stick around and had made himself pretty clear the night before. It was probably for the best but, as Mark tried to work out what he was going to say to Azzam, he couldn't help feeling it was not Azzam he was trying to convince. He was slightly more surprised when he found Azzam's room was also empty. While the boy was very good about getting up for school, it was the weekend and he'd had a late night so Mark had expected to have to do a little chivvying to get him up, dressed and fed at their normal time.

Everything became clear when he went downstairs. Nicholas and Azzam were sitting at the kitchen table with breakfast in front of them and, from the sounds of things, immersed in a serious discussion about football. Azzam ignored his entrance, much more interested in the his visitor than the adult he lived with, but Nicholas offered him a quiet 'good morning' before turning his attention back to the conversation. He was even eating a bowl of Coco-pops with every evidence of enjoyment. Mark raised an eyebrow at him over his choice of cereal and got a bland look in reply.

"More coffee?" he offered.

Nicholas nodded, "Thanks," and passed his cup over politely.

That was certainly one way to avoid morning-afterwards awkwardness that never came up in discussion; have your son steal off with your lover. Mark laughed silently at his own slight pique and stuck two slices of bread in the toaster. There was a pot of coffee waiting for him on the hotplate and Mark filled Nicholas' mug before he helped himself. He received a smile as he passed it back, a warm expression that went over Azzam's head. For a moment it was just the two of them as it had been the night before. Any worries Mark might have had about what they had done vanished in the feeling of ease between them. The smoulder of desire was there, banked but stronger now that he knew what it could mean. More importantly, the comfortable feeling that Nicholas was someone he could relax with was still there and, from Nicholas' expression, he could only believe that he felt the same way. They just looked at each other, Azzam, no longer the quiet boy he had been when Mark took him in, chattering between them, oblivious. Then Mark's toast popped and they both turned back to their respective tasks. Still, Mark couldn't help smiling as he dug the margarine out of the fridge.

Azzam rolled his eyes at him when Mark sat down with a pointed 'good morning', but allowed the conversation to expand and include his adopted father. After that, discussion flowed between the three of them until an insistent trill interrupted. Nicholas frowned slightly as he looked down at his phone. "Excuse me," he said and slipped from the room before answering it.

Mark couldn't catch much of Nicholas' side of the conversation and what he did was mostly demands for report and explanation but he recognised the tone of voice.

"International crisis?" he asked, only half joking, when Nicholas returned.

"Not yet." Nicholas pulled a slight face and reached for his coffee, draining it quickly. "But I'd better deal with it. I'm sorry to cut this short."

The later was directed at the boy but his eyes were on Mark.

"You'll come and see me play football soon?" Azzam demanded.

"Wouldn't miss it," Nicholas assured him. "You make sure Mark tells me when your next match is."

Nicholas accepted the hug Azzam offered him with good grace and said his good-byes.

"See me out?" he said to Mark. It wasn't really a question so Mark just nodded, plastered on his 'this is normal' smile and waited to see what Nicholas wanted to say. He would have liked to believe that Nicholas wanted the chance for a moment together but that was what happened to those other people in that other life.

Nicholas remained silent until they reached the door and even then Mark caught the quick glance around as Nicholas checked that they would not be overheard.

"You should know, Azzam came into my room this morning."

Mark frowned, surprised. "He knows better than to disturb a guest - I'll talk to him."

"No, no, it wasn't a problem." Nicholas stopped him quickly. "He knocked and I'd already cleared up." Mark hadn't even thought about that. "But he was looking for you."

Nicholas slipped his coat on as Mark looked blankly at him. Then the implications registered. "What?"

"I didn't quite get all of it," Nicholas said with the care of one for whom reports could mean lives. "Something about a school-yard discussion of Doctor Who," he frowned slightly, "although I'm not sure why that was relevant but Azzam seemed to think it was important." Shrugging it away he continued, "His mates teaching him some 'bad' words and you explaining about the bees and the bees, during which my name came up." That hung for a moment. "As did yours."

"I'm not going to ask where you've been posted that you missed Doctor Who," Mark quipped but seeing Nicholas' face he sobered. "I'm sorry, Nicholas. He'd heard some stuff in the playground and I tried to explain things. He was having a bit of difficulty with it all until I pointed out that he thought you were cool, didn't he? That did it, and apparently he gave his mates an earful the next day." Mark could hear some of the pride he had in his son creeping into his own voice. It wasn't as if Nicholas' preferences were a secret, at least not during the entire time the Mark had known him, so something else had to be bothering him. Mark waited.

"And yourself, Mark?" Nicholas didn't disappoint him. "Did you think what would happen if he spread that bit of information around?"

He probably should be insulted that Nicholas thought so little of him, but he knew it was more about Nicholas' ingrained habit than it was about him. One day they would have the argument about Nicholas still trying to keep him 'clean' and how the whole thing was bullshit anyway, but it wasn't the time or the place. Seeing the equally stubborn look in Nicholas' face he mentally revised his prediction as to how often they were going to have that particular discussion.

"He asked if I had ever kissed another man," Mark explained, "and I wasn't about to lie to him." He knew Nicholas could understand that, even if he didn't necessarily agree. He was the one who had said he didn't want to lie to Azzam, after all. "If it comes out, it comes out - it isn't something I'm ashamed of."

"For Christ's sake, Mark," Nicholas asked, resigned, "do you think these things through at all?"

There was something so familiar, and yet so rare, about debating politics as a personal rather than professional event that Mark chuckled. It was interesting to be arguing on the side of the angels for a change; he had traditionally been the voice of reason against an idealistic opponent. He found he rather liked the exchange.

"I missed this," he admitted. "And, yes, I thought it through. Give me some credit."

"A lot more than the tabloids will," Nicholas retorted.

That was probably true.

Wanting to change the subject and a little curious, Mark asked, "So, what did you say to Azzam this morning?"

"Not a lot. You weren't there and he drew his own conclusions." That Nicholas had subtly encouraged him to do just that, and had not corrected him, went unsaid.

"And?" Mark prompted.

"He seemed a bit disappointed," Nicholas said thoughtfully. "He said he was hoping that we would get together because then he would have someone to play computer games with all the time. And apparently you work too much. I'm not sure if I was supposed to make you stop or play with him when you were busy."

Either or both probably, Mark thought. "It must be nice to see the world in such simple terms." And to be able to blithely assume that all adults were there for your convenience.

"It's dangerous, Mark," Nicholas warned.

"So is crossing the road." It was also not something Mark was about to apologise for.

"Then," Nicholas bit out, "you need to replace whoever is supposed to be looking after you these days."

They glared at each other for a moment. It was silly and they both knew it.

Mark shook his head, smiling ruefully. "You want the job?" he gave in.

They had drifted closer to each other in the heat of the argument, keeping their voices low so as not to attract Azzam's attention and making up for it by closing the distance.

"Mark," Nicholas warned gently. They were so close that all it would have taken was a second's lapse and they would have been plastered against each other. But if that happened it would be even more difficult to make themselves stop. "You make it so hard," Nicholas breathed and Mark could not help watching the pink tongue as it flicked out to moisten dry lips. Remember what it had felt like to kiss that versatile mouth. "You make me so hard." The words were drawn out, an unwilling correction that Nicholas hadn't wanted to make.

"Am I supposed to feel guilty about that?" Mark retorted, shifting infinitesimally closer. Neither of them could take much more before one of them broke.

It was with an almost savage movement that Nicholas stepped away and there was nothing that Mark could really do except open the front door and let distance relieve a little of the temptation.

"I've got to go to Geneva next week. I'll let you know when I get back." Nicholas promised, his voice rough.

Mark knew he didn't sound much better. "I'll hold you to that," he said and regretted the choice of words immediately because holding was the least he wanted to do. It also raised an important question; were they supposed to shake hands, hug, or just say their good-byes now that the time had come? Touch seemed too fraught with danger but not to touch at all seemed too great a sacrifice. Nicholas hovered in the doorway, apparently caught in his own dilemma. Making a decision, he straightened.

"Mark, while I'm gone decide whether this is really what you want," Nicholas caught his eyes and held them, "and whether it's worth the fall out. Because there will be some."

"And if I think it is?" As if Mark could look away.

"Then I'll believe you," Nicholas said with frightening trust, "and we'll discuss finding some way to square everything. No promises."

With a brush of Mark's hand he was gone before Mark could reply. But, standing on the doorstep, Mark felt himself begin to smile as he watched Nicholas walk away.

"Just call me Moneypenny," he said under his breath. Shutting the door he went to finish breakfast with his son.