#fitzcott

Fitzgerald moves them out of their tiny apartment and into a “proper” gargantuan office building as soon as possible.

Alcott can’t say she minds too much.  Fitzgerald’s always stressed the value of being close to your work space if an emergency comes up.  Besides that, Alcott likes her privacy, likes having her own room (bigger than the entire apartment) to retreat to when she needs it.  Her bedroom, which used to be an office before Fitzgerald added a comfortable bed, a dresser, a desk, and a flatscreen TV, is more luxurious than Alcott needs.  But he likes spoiling his subordinates, she knows.  It’s one of the things she admires about him.

The only complaint she might have - a trivial one - is that she doesn’t sleep as close to Fitzgerald now.

When they were in that tiny space, they naturally slept close together: there was simply no other option.  She could hear his breathing, and it lulled her to sleep.  The moment she woke up, she could see that he was still well, still here.  Nothing had hurt him.

Now she’s down the hall from him.  A lengthy hall.  If something were to happen-

She wouldn’t be able to do anything either way.  Her ability is useless for combat, and the closest thing to a weapon she’s ever learned how to use is a kitchen knife.  Even if she worries, it doesn’t make a difference how far she is from him.  She can’t help.

The knowledge makes the first three nights uneasy for her, no matter how comfortable her bed is.  She falls into a restless sleep eventually, and since her usual morning state is ‘not functional until she gets a coffee in her’, Fitzgerald doesn’t notice.

On the fourth night, just after she’s changed into her nightgown, someone knocks on her door.  It’s Fitzgerald - he always knocks the same way, two sharp and quick knocks that suggest that that should be enough for you to hurry to answer him.

With Alcott, it always is.  She opens the door for him.  “Mr. Fitzgerald?  What do you need?”

Fitzgerald is wearing gold and green silk pajamas, his personal favorite.  “I hope I didn’t wake you, Ms. Alcott.”

“Not at all!”  She’s pretty sure she would say the same thing if he’d knocked at four in the morning and she’d had to drag herself out of bed, but in this case it’s the truth.

“I hate to bother you, but I’ve been having trouble getting to sleep lately,” Fitzgerald says.  “Since we moved to this building, in fact.”

“M-me too,” Alcott admits, and then hastens to make sure Fitzgerald isn’t insulted.  “But it’s not your furniture choices!  I think this is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept on.”

“They’re top of the line mattresses that respond automatically to your optimal softness for deep sleep.  I used to own the company,” Fitzgerald says with pride.  “So it can’t be the beds.  I’ve slept in office buildings many times before, so it can’t be that...”  His expression softens, just a little.  “I wonder if I became used to sleeping next to you?”

Alcott’s face goes bright red instantly.  She has no reply to that and she’s sure that if she opened her mouth, all that would come out would be squeaks.

Sleeping next to each other when you have to is one thing.  Sleeping next to each other by choice, that’s entirely different!

“We ought to test out the theory, anyway,” Fitzgerald says, as relaxed as ever.  “A few of the bedrooms have pairs of queen-sized beds rather than the single bed you have.  Will that be fine?”

...If they’re in separate beds, then everything should be okay, and Alcott does want to get some sleep.  More importantly, she can’t stand the idea of being the reason Fitzgerald isn’t resting properly.  She nods.

“Grand!” Fitzgerald says.  “I had room 104 prepared for us earlier.  You can move your things tomorrow, if it works as planned.”

The bedroom Fitzgerald leads her to is just as expensively furnished.  She can’t appreciate it properly because she’s too busy climbing into bed and pulling the covers high enough to hide her blush.

Fitzgerald takes his time getting ready - Alcott gives thanks that he was already in his pajamas - but eventually he climbs into bed and turns off the light.  “Goodnight, Ms. Alcott.”

“G-goodnight, Mr. Fitzgerald.”