As Kate’s breathing slows, Anthea slips out, hand steady against Kate’s hip, holding her up as Kate’s leg slides down bonelessly, legs shaky and muscles weak. “Fuck,” Kate breaths, the word drawn out and luxurious as her eyes flutter open shakily, as if with effort. Anthea grins and manoeuvre her under the spray, washing away the last bit of body wash not already slaked off by their efforts. They stumble out of the shower together, laughing a bit, and wrap themselves up in plush towels.
Anthea goes to the kitchen and brings in a bottle of wine and two glasses; she tosses Kate her mobile with a grin and Kate rolls her eyes. Not in frustration, really, but at them, drawn together by their jobs officially at last, after all these years. Seated at the end of Anthea’s bed, towels wrapped loosely and hair still dripping wet, they both thumb through missed messages and fire off quick responses.
“You don’t think you could get Irene to call it off, do you?”
Kate scoffs. “Now that she’s met Sherlock? Chance’d be a fine thing.”
Anthea raises one eyebrow; Kate studiously ignores her in favour of scheduling an appointment with a minor Danish royal. “He’s not the endgame, though, really.” It’s not a question and Kate glances at her, sidelong. Anthea shrugs. “If what she has on that phone is what we think it is, she might be getting into something above her head.”
Kate considers her for a long moment. “Irene’s very good at keeping her head when she needs to.”
“And yourself?”
“I’m very good at keeping what Irene needs me to keep.” Anthea feels a brief wave of fondness at the matter-of-fact statement; it’s once again the two of them, the women behind the power, and Anthea knows that tone of voice. She should; she’s heard it in her own words once or twice, in moments of truth. She nods, an acknowledgment. Yes, they are good at doing what’s needed, aren’t they?
“Good,” she murmurs, and leans to kiss Kate’s shoulder. And it is: for now, it is needed, and it is good, and that’s what they do.
--- A/N: Sorry for the short delay, there, OP! Hope it, erm, satisfies :D
Fill: Stress Relief (5/5)
Anthea goes to the kitchen and brings in a bottle of wine and two glasses; she tosses Kate her mobile with a grin and Kate rolls her eyes. Not in frustration, really, but at them, drawn together by their jobs officially at last, after all these years. Seated at the end of Anthea’s bed, towels wrapped loosely and hair still dripping wet, they both thumb through missed messages and fire off quick responses.
“You don’t think you could get Irene to call it off, do you?”
Kate scoffs. “Now that she’s met Sherlock? Chance’d be a fine thing.”
Anthea raises one eyebrow; Kate studiously ignores her in favour of scheduling an appointment with a minor Danish royal. “He’s not the endgame, though, really.” It’s not a question and Kate glances at her, sidelong. Anthea shrugs. “If what she has on that phone is what we think it is, she might be getting into something above her head.”
Kate considers her for a long moment. “Irene’s very good at keeping her head when she needs to.”
“And yourself?”
“I’m very good at keeping what Irene needs me to keep.” Anthea feels a brief wave of fondness at the matter-of-fact statement; it’s once again the two of them, the women behind the power, and Anthea knows that tone of voice. She should; she’s heard it in her own words once or twice, in moments of truth. She nods, an acknowledgment. Yes, they are good at doing what’s needed, aren’t they?
“Good,” she murmurs, and leans to kiss Kate’s shoulder. And it is: for now, it is needed, and it is good, and that’s what they do.
---
A/N: Sorry for the short delay, there, OP! Hope it, erm, satisfies :D