#optimus-pam

He knows she means only to encourage him with her words. But she’s clearly lying. They have miles yet left to cover before they even make it to the Wall, and she knows that as well as anybody.

“Right,” is all Gendry says by way of response. He tries to smile but doesn’t quite manage it. “Nearly there.” He bends once more to his boots, cursing his clumsy hands and wishing they would stop shaking long enough for him to do up the laces properly.

A moment later she’s at his side. She kneels in front of him so that they’re eye-level, and she grabs his chin in both hands so he has to look her in the eye. Her face is just inches from his, now, and he can feel the heat of her touch all the way through the thick woolen mittens she wears. 

“You are going to make it,” she spits out, her eyes steely and fierce in a way Gendry has seen countless times in his dreams.

In fact, I dreamt about you last night, he thinks wildly.

But of course he cannot tell her that.

“I’m... going to make it,” he repeats instead.

She leans forward. Less than an inch of space separates them now, and he can feel her warm breath on his cheeks like a lover’s touch. “You are not going to die. I won’t have it. I won’t. I’ve had enough people I care about dying on me to last a hundred lifetimes.”

He nods, very slowly. He tries to swallow, but she’s looking at him like he’s the only thing that matters to her, and it’s all he can do not to kiss her right there in the middle of everything and show her, at last, what she means to him.

“No dying,” he finally whispers. “I’m staying right here, Arya. I promise.”

She smiles, but the ferocity does not leave her eyes. “Good,” she says.

With a courage he knows he will never possess, Arya closes the short distance between them and presses her lips to his.

“Because if you do die,” she continues, when she pulls back from him after a very long moment, “I’ll kill you myself.” 

In spite of himself, and even though his heart is now pounding so loudly in his chest he’s certain the rest of their group can hear it, Gendry laughs. “I don’t doubt that for a second,” he assures her, before kissing her again.

“I’m not a mind reader, I’mutilizing a complex internal algorithm to successfully predict—”

“Are you high again?” sheasked, ready to be extremely angry contingent upon his answer.

“No,” he saidemphatically.  He didn’t elaborate, which meant he either didn’t wantto get caught in a lie or he was genuinely offended she’d even asked. Hard to tell.

“So why is your bodyguard blockingthe door?”

“Oh for—Let her in.  I told himI wasn’t to be disturbed and no one was allowed in.”

“Even the Missus,” Wigginssaid gravely, moving aside just enough so that she could slip by.

“For the last time, not actuallymarried,” Sherlock said, springing up to his feet from wherehe’d been sat cross-legged on the floor.  He tilted his head side toside and shook out his arms; she wondered how long he’d been sittingthere.

“Or, y'know, together,” shesaid, mostly to herself.  She wasn’t sure, but a hint of a shadowpassed over his features at that.  She shouldn’t have made it weird,but that was her stock-in-trade.  "Just thought I’d pop roundand see how things were going.“

"Mycroft sent you to spy on meagain?”

“No.  I haven’t talked to him thisweek at a—”  Her phone blared the chorus of ‘Queen Bitch,’Mycroft’s ringtone.  Set by Sherlock, again.  She had no ideahow he did it, she never let him alone with her phone.  Ever.

He gave her a smug look.

“He’s probably just monitoring theCCTV again and saw me come in,” she said, letting the call go tovoicemail.

“Nope, budget meetings all day andshift change for his flying monkeys, no one would have seen you comein.”

She narrowed her eyes and cocked herhead, trying to determine the truth of that statement, then gave itup for a bad job and walked past him into the kitchen, which wasstill (thankfully) free of any drug-cooking apparatus.  "If youmust know why I’m here, I brought you a present,“ she said,dropping her bag on the table and going for the kettle.

"Ooh, what is it?” Sherlocksaid, at her side in an instant.

“Didn’t predict it with youralgorithm?”

“Still working out the kinks. Now, present?”

She fished in her trouser pocket andheld up a plastic vial before handing it over.

Sherlock rattled it, then popped thecap to look inside.  "Wow, it’s huge!  This is the biggest oneyet!  Cystine?  Ooh, and it looks like a goldfish.  This one’s goingin the shadow box,“ he said, practically bouncing toward hisbedroom.

Only he would get so excited over akidney stone.  Well, she did too, because it was huge, andrare, and it was her job.  And it did look like a goldfish.  One ofthe fat ones with the gross bulging eyes.

He turned at the bathroom and boundedback, dipping to press a kiss to her cheek.  "Thank you,”he said, grinning, before disappearing again.

She smiled to herself, glad she couldmake him happy.  Positive reinforcement; he’d been clean a month andthree days.  Kind of a belated milestone gift, even thematicallyappropriate.  Milestones, kidney stones…  No idea why peoplethought she was weird.

“Wiggins, tea,” she calledinto the lounge.  

He appeared at her opposite shoulderand she startled; he must have come through the kitchen door,or—equally likely—apparated there from his position on thelanding.

“Thank you, Missus,” he saidsolemnly, accepting his mug.

“Oh, did I miss the vicar?  No? Still not married,” Sherlock bellowed from his bedroom.

“May as well be, way ya takecare'a 'him,” he said, blowing on his mug.

She made a little noise of agreement. He was probably the only one that saw it that way.

She didn’t exactly like Wiggins, thoughshe didn’t hate him like the others did.  After everything had beenover, she’d seen his workups for Sherlock, how he’d calculateddosages and monitored him to make sure he was alright (alrightbeing relative).  She couldn’t help but respect him just a littlebit; she mourned whatever circumstances in life had led him away fromwhat could have been a promising career in medicine or chemistry, hadhe gone to university.

“Everyone keeps telling me you’rethe bad guy,” she thought out loud, immediately regretting it.

“’S'alright.  Get that a lot.”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes you did, but he’s really notoffended,” Sherlock said, swooping in to grab his mug.  "Areyou, Wiggins?“

"No,” he said, face blank andhonest, a bit distant like he always was.

“What was the cause of death?”Sherlock asked, switching gears without taking his foot off the gas,just like he always did.

“Hit by a bus.”

“I’m sure they’d be grateful ifthey’d lived long enough to pass it.  Wiggins, go home,”Sherlock said.

“Rude.  I haven’t even finished mytea.”

“Here,” Sherlock said,shoving a £50 note athim.  "Buy tea.  Go.“

Wiggins shrugged and set his mug on thetable, leaving without a word.

"You could be a bit nicer to him,”Molly said.

“I could be a lot of things.” Sherlock sipped his tea and made a face.  "I think the milk’sgone off.  Want to see the shadowbox?“

"You know I’ve seen everything inthere.  Because I gave them to you.”

“Yes, but you haven’t seen themarranged,” he said, already starting for the bedroomagain.

He had her there; she followed him backto see all the things she’d dug out of people artfully displayed onblack velvet.  She wondered if he’d been this cute as a child, allspringy curls and rosy cheeks and enthusiasm.

“Nope, cuter,” he tossed overhis shoulder.

“What?”  She pulled up short.

“Algorithm.”

Don’t picture him naked, don’tpicture him naked—

“Really, Molly?”

Anybody could have guessed that.  Itwas human nature.

“If you say so,” he saidholding up his shadowbox proudly.

I hate you.

“You really don’t.”

Yeah, fine, she didn’t.  She clampeddown hard on the next thought before she had a chance to have it,just in case.

“Tinfoil’s still in the cupboard,if you feel the need to make a hat.”

Arse.

“And we’re back to that again.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

*

Really, he thought, it’s just too easysometimes.

Of course he couldn’t read minds oreven predict what people were thinking (well, he could, a bit). Molly was so transparent birds flew into her.