Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine. Takes place after HLV, should be canon-compliant up until that point. Not related to the "No Capes!" universe, I'm afraid, though I will be heading back there soon. Enjoy!

- SECRET AGENT MAN -

"He won't hurt you."

It's the first thing that Mary says when she brings Molly to meet Logan.

"I know he looks like… well, trouble," the new Mrs Watson says, "and I can guarantee that he is, but he won't hurt you, Molly.

You have my word on that."

And she smiles at Logan, waves from across the little Camden pub they've elected to meet in (apparently it's one of the few in London that he's never been barred from.) Molly watches as the crowd parts like the Red Sea to allow the short, dark-haired man through. Even the decidedly tough-looking blokes cut him a wide berth. The pathologist's eyes widen as she takes him in, surprised by how, well, how small and hairy and surprisingly inconspicuous the best security specialist Mary knows actually is.

When he reaches them he takes Mary's hand, smiles warmly. His look to Molly is quick. Polite- surprisingly so- but not at all assessing.

For some reason she feels a little disappointed.

"Good t'see you again, shark bait," he says dryly instead, smiling at the other woman. "Tasha told me t'say hello."

Mary beams. "And how is she? How's Clint?"

"Still mad about Budapest." Logan's smile turns wry. "He's claiming you shoulda worn a wire and it all wouldn'ta gone to Hell." He shakes his head. "Moron."

Mary snorts in amusement. "Well, it's nice to know he's still delusional," she says. She takes a sip of her drink, gestures to the barman to give Logan the same. He cocks an eyebrow at her- "marriage making you presumptuous, darlin'?"- but she merely shrugs. Gestures to Molly as the drink arrives.

"This is the friend I was telling you about," she says. "This is Molly. Molly Hooper, this is Logan." She takes another sip of her drink, her eyes mischievous. "He's like a supermodel, I'm afraid: He doesn't have a surname."

Logan shoots Mary a cocked eyebrow. "Hey now, that's unfair darlin'," he tells her. "I could be an eighties pop star too, ya know I'm pretty enough." He holds out his hand to Molly as Mary laughs. "Pleasure to meet you," he tells Molly. "Don't believe a word this one says about me."

And he takes her hand as Mary scoffs, envelopes it in a surprisingly firm grip.

His hands are large. Warm. Unexpectedly hairy. The contact sends a jolt of… something through Molly, something exacerbated by the easy grin he gives her, and for the first time since that bloody message featuring Jim appeared a week ago Molly feels herself relax.

Maybe it shows on her face, because this time Logan does look at her. A quick, peering little look that should seem assessing, or sexual, but doesn't.

He keeps her hand in his a moment longer and squeezes her fingers, grins when Molly squeezes back. Then he reaches for the beer Mary bought him, takes a sip.

"Strong grip," he says, and the words are addressed to both women. "Those fingers'll be able for a blade," he says. "Maybe even a hunting knife."

Molly shakes her head. "I don't- I don't want to use a knife on living people," she says, shooting a help me look at Mary. "On dead people I don't mind-" Lord, she thinks, how terrible does that sound?- "I mean, I'm a pathologist, I use scalpels but on corpses, which is what I'm supposed to do- and I always do the paperwork, I'm very professional-"

Molly knows she's babbling: It's her birthright, dammit, she's British.

She assumes Logan will scold her- he's the Secret Agent Man, after all- but he doesn't.

He just smiles this calm little smile, and nods.

"Hey, take it easy," he tells her. "I can teach you something besides the blade, if that's what you want." He sits back, takes another sip of his drink. Everything about his body language is relaxed. Calming. Molly can't help but suspect that he's doing it on purpose. "Enjoy your drink," he says, "and then you can show me where I'll be working: I'll walk you home and check the place tonight."

Molly nods, relieved- isn't it nice to talk to a man who doesn't treat you like you're a moron? a voice inside her head whispers. She shoots a look at Mary and her friend is grinning. It belatedly occurs to her that this little meeting might be about more than just her personal safety routine, and she thinks that if that's the case then maybe, just maybe, Mary Watson might be her favourite person in the world right now.

He walks her home and the entire time she doesn't think a single thing about Sherlock Holmes.

Well, aside from the usual stuff.

And when she invites him in, shows him the spare room in which he'll be sleeping while he works out her new security routine, it's nice to get a smile, to hear a please and thank you. She goes to bed humming happily.

She might have known- given her history- that such peace is not going to last.