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Flapjack / Scary Candywife
Fandom: Human Target
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Ames
Summary: When Ames gets stuck in the office researching a case, Harry spies a rare opportunity to spend some time alone with her as her assistant. As per usual, his plan's not going the way he'd hoped.

She walks in beauty like the night of...loveless? No, that's not right. Climbing? No, but there's something like that...something about the weather. And stars. Definitely stars.

Well, no one had ever accused Harry of being a poet. But that didn't stop the inspiration that bubbled warmly inside him at the sight of the woman currently hunched at the computer table in Chance's office.

"Coke?" he asked.

The pencil Ames had been twirling between her fingers stilled. When she turned, her hair dripped over her shoulder like warm chocolate.

"I figured you might want one," Harry said. "I mean, you've been sitting here for half an hour looking over this stuff, and I don't know about you but whenever I've gotta start analyzing documents and reading up on clients, I always start to get thir--"

Ames' fingertips closed over the back of his hand.



She raised her eyebrows. "You've gotta let go of the can."

"Huh? Oh, right. Sorry. Duh."

"Thanks, Harry," she said. She slipped the can from his grip, popped the top, and put it to her lips.

Harry settled back into the rolling chair at her side and pretended not to watch the smooth line of her throat ripple as she chugged.

"So," he said. "Any luck with-- this?"

As he spoke, he gestured to include the monitor embedded in the table, and the notes Ames had been jotting down as she worked.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Some. It's going."

"Oh, great," he said. "I mean, it sucks that the guys left you here doing all the paperwork, you know? Guys like you and me-- well, you're not a guy obviously, but you know what I mean-- we should be out in the field, getting into the action, making a difference, doing something--"


"--And not getting stuck in the office like this. Alone--"


Ames' smile was as thin as a crack in porcelain.

"Oh, right. You're trying to work. Sorry, I'll just-- yeah."

She bobbed her head and turned back to the screen.

Harry drummed his fingers against his arm while his eyes drifted over the decor of the room. Their circuit ended, as it tended to these days, at Ames. She'd stopped spinning the pencil in favor of gnawing on it while she squinted at something on the screen. Harry followed her gaze to the monitor and the senseless graphics and code splayed across it. Then he looked at her notebook and its page full of tiny scrawl, framed by doodles in the margins.

He cleared his throat. Ames' jaw tightened; Harry thought he heard the faint crunch of her teeth clenching against the pencil.

"Is there anything I can help you with? I mean, I know breaking into places can get pretty technical, but I've got some experience there myself."

"I'm good, thanks."

"Okay. You're sure? I mean, trust me, I know how it goes. Maybe not with high tech security systems and all of that, but I've gotten into some crazy places. There was this one time about three years ago when I was tailing this guy in Key West, and I had to get some photos out of his houseboat while it was adrift--"

"Harry," Ames hissed, and before he could answer she'd grabbed his tie, yanked him forward and—

For a second he forgot how to breath. Her lips were as warm as he'd imagined them. They tasted like Coke fizz and graphite and wait, what, no, why was she backing away?

"Right. Here's the deal," said Ames. She leveled the pencil at his forehead. "Steak. Morton's. Saturday at seven o' clock. I go with you, you agree to stay quiet long enough for me to actually finish this stuff. Deal?"

He couldn't have spoken even if he wanted to. Finally, he regained enough sense to at least nod.

"Great," she chirped, and she leaned over her notebook once more.

He didn't let out a peep for the rest of the night.


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