Nothing noticeable changed after that night. His things were still in the guest house, her's still in the main building. Sometimes they spent the night in the same bed, sometimes they spent the night alone. They still took swipes at one another, still hid their softer feelings behind sarcasm and razor sharp wit that would have left anyone else bleeding from the verbal sparring. Yes, the words were less biting and their voices were warmer, softer somehow. But the two who knew them best, who knew what they had been through together, just smiled at what they saw as proof that a friendship was blooming in front of them.

So when she went missing, snatched off the street in broad daylight, they expected him to be worried, a little scared, concerned, all the things they were feeling. They didn't expect him to be frantic. They expected him to stick his nose into the investigation and ask appropriate questions at inappropriate times. They didn't expect him to snap at them, at Kumu, at Katsumoto.

When they received an email with the subject 'She's Running Out Of Time' they expected him to be as hesitant about opening it as they were. They didn't expect his finger to freeze on the mouse pad. When they saw they had been sent the link to a video, when they had to watch as a rope was wrapped around her neck, as she struggled just to breathe, they expected him to be angry and scared like they were. They didn't expect him to knock the laptop to the floor, fury making his hands shake.

By the time Katsumoto, wary of what would happen if he shared intel but warier still of what could happen if he didn't, told them they had pulled a location from the email, they had realised something had changed. They expected him to jump in the car and go, breaking speed limits and ignoring red lights. And he did, pushing both the engine and his skill as a driver to their absolute limit. But he also took the time to grab an extra gun and they realised they should have expected that.

They expected him to ignore the fact that the police were less than five minutes behind them and he did, kicking down the door and moving with speed through the corridors. But he also shot to kill and they realised they should have expected that.

And when they had cleared the building and entered the room where she was being held, tied to a chair, bruised and bloody but still defiant, they were expecting him to hurry across to her, to cut her free, to check she was okay. And he did, running across the space between them, knife already in his hand to cut the ropes. But he also wrapped his arms around her, kissed her so tenderly, and they realised, with a look at one another, that they really should have expected that too.