Notes: Written for sahiya as part of fandom_stocking 2012. Slight adult themes, one or two instances of adult language, but nothing too bad. :)

She had promised. Promised. And she cursed herself for doing so, now, because the last thing Sara Ellis felt like doing was seeing Neal Caffrey.

That was a little unfair, she conceded, as soon as the thought occurred. Neal had been the cause of bad days in the past, but he'd had nothing to do with anything that had gone wrong today. It wouldn't be fair to cancel plans with him just because she'd had a hard day.

But she was in a bad mood as she ascended the stairs to his apartment, and she wondered if maybe it would have been a better idea to spare them both a possible argument by cancelling after all.

Be nice, she told herself as she knocked on the door. Today wasn't his fault. It's Friday night and you don't have to deal with anything but wine, and Caffrey's near-insufferable charm, until tomorrow. You can do it, Ellis. Be nice.

He swung the door open and grinned widely at her. "Hi."

"I'm really pissed off," she warned him, stepping past him.

"Oh," he said. "Not because of me, I hope." He closed the door and leaned against it, one hand in his pocket, head cocked.

"Not today," Sara said, tossing her purse onto the couch.

"Would you like a drink?"

"In a minute," she said. She sank onto the edge of his bed, wondering, distractedly, if a few minutes of fast sex could cure her of her bad mood.

"What happened?" Neal asked, sitting beside her.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, wondering just how much to share. Wondering if it would be better to just dismiss it and take a few deep breaths and smile and tell him she was over it, and she was sorry, and she wasn't going to ruin their evening by settling into a sulk.

"Everyone has bad days, Sara," he said, after a long moment of silence. He tucked a coppery lock of her hair behind her ear and smiled easily. "What went wrong today?"

She toed her shoes off slowly and figured maybe ranting for a while would ease her of the tension across her shoulders. "Everything. My computer got some sort of weird virus and I still don't know what files I've lost. Any is too much. And I was so sure, you know, that I was this close," she held her thumb and forefinger apart, "to closing a case I'm on, but all of my leads just completely... died." She ran a hand through her hair and tried, again, to mentally gather the clues and threads she'd been trying to spin together all day. But they frayed and broke apart again, and she almost felt them settle like dust at the edges of her mind, completely useless.

"I just can't..." She furrowed her brow and breathed out slowly. "I can't see a way forward. I'm at a dead end. And I really thought I was close, you know?" She tried not to clench her teeth in frustration. "It just really got to me today."

"Sometimes you just have to play the waiting game," Neal said.

"I hate the waiting game," Sara admitted. "Especially when I was so sure the game was almost over."

After a moment she realised Neal's fingers were running up and down her back, trailing nonsense patterns through the slippery material of her shirt. She didn't say anything, but it felt nice, and after a moment she slumped a little, letting her muscles uncoil.

She swung her legs slightly, her toes brushing the floor. "That feels good," she admitted. She glanced sideways at him, almost embarrassed. "How was your day?"

"Watched Peter knock over a hotdog cart," Neal said. "He got mustard on his tie. It was a good day."

She laughed and fell back against the bed, looking up at him. "How'd that happen?"

He grinned and stretched out beside her, propping himself up on his elbow. "He took a corner too fast," he said. "We were chasing a suspect. Well, Peter was chasing. I was watching."

"Poor Peter," Sarah said, closing her eyes. "I guess he had a bad day too."

"Well, he's got his suspect in custody," Neal said. "And he wasn't hurt, so I don't think his day was that bad."

Sara felt Neal's fingers against the top of her head, and he started gliding strokes down through her hair, gentle pressure against her scalp. She forced herself to be still, but she couldn't help feeling self-conscious at the same time, aware that she hadn't ever done much with Neal but bicker, flirt and fuck.

This all felt a little too vulnerable.

After a moment, Neal rolled over, his weight against her, one arm draped over her chest, his other hand moving up through her hair to trace light fingers over her brow and her nose.

"What are you doing?" Sara asked after a moment, keeping her eyes closed.

"Don't you like it?"

"No, I do." She swallowed. "I just feel like you're examining me."

She could picture him grinning above her, and she felt a slow flood of warmth creeping up her neck and into her cheeks at the thought.

"You're blushing," he noted.

"I know. Stop looking at me."

He chuckled and pressed a kiss against her cheek, and then brushed his lips over her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the edge of her mouth. The weight of his arm against her chest was secure and heavy, but the light touches against her face made her feel self-conscious.

"Why is it so hard to get you to relax?" Neal asked after a moment, his finger touching her earring, tracing the warm curve of her ear.

She breathed out slowly. "I'm in the company of a con man," she said after a moment, reverting to sarcasm and avoiding the real issue. It was a hard habit to break, she realised. Avoiding the truth.

"Touché," was all Neal said. He kissed her cheek again and breathed soft against her skin. His fingers slipped over her collarbone and touched the hollow at the base of her throat, before he tilted her chin up gently and kissed her properly. He encouraged her mouth open with his tongue and prodded gently, sucked at her lower lip and twined his fingers into her hair.

Sara could physically feel the tension melting from her body, her muscles relaxing and the dull ache in her head slowly fading away. She felt a confusing mix of hate and amazement when it came to Neal sometimes, and just how good he was at so many things.

But she felt tired, too, and drained, and she wasn't sure if this was going to develop into sex. She thought maybe he could talk her into it, without so much as uttering a sound, if he continued with what he was doing, but it was tempting to give into drowsiness.

"Feeling better?" Neal asked, and he brushed his mouth over hers again.

"Much," she admitted. She opened her eyes to look at him, and smiled when her ran his thumb across her eyebrow. "I'm kind of exhausted, though."

"That's no crime," he assured her.

"I'm sure I can rely on you to tell me what is and isn't a crime," she said, and she pulled his shirt up and rested her hand against his waist.

"You can't be too tired," he said. "Stop talking smack."

She laughed and buried her face against his neck. "No, you've cheered me up," she said. "But can I take a shower? I feel like I need to wake up."

"Sure," he whispered, but he took a long moment to move off her, choosing instead to nuzzle warm against her shoulder, his hand running down the length of her arm to clasp hers. He moved back slowly and pulled her up with him. "Would you object to me joining you?"

She smiled and kissed his chin. "I can't see why I would."

"Just a little more," Sara murmured, mouth against Neal's chest. Her eyes were closed and Neal was still toying with the temperature of the water. Sara liked it hotter than he did, apparently, but he was willing to give in to her this time.

"There?" he asked.

"That's good." She looked up at him, sure that the steam and water had turned her mascara into extremely unflattering panda-eyes, but she didn't care. "Can I give you a shampoo mohawk?"

"Nothing would please me more."

She laughed and started rubbing suds through his hair, focusing on her hands instead of his eyes, which were very much trained on her, a small smile tilting the edge of his mouth as he watched her.

Neal had great hair. Sara found herself taking her time with her silly chore, raking her nails slowly against his scalp and sliding his hair deliberately through her fingers, pulling gently so his head tilted back, or forward. She used her palms to gather it all at the top of his head, spiking it in a heap of white foam.

"Sexy?" he asked, his eyes closed.

"You have no idea," she murmured.

He laughed and bent forward to kiss her, ducking his head under the spray. He waited until the water ran free of soap again before he opened her mouth, water trailing over his lips and across hers.

He began to smooth his hands over her skin, soap leaving a trail of suds behind his touch. He skated his fingers over her back and her hips, her stomach, her sides. He touched beneath her arms and stroked the backs of her thighs, and she leaned against him and closed her eyes.

She could steer things in a very different direction if she wanted to – maybe start sucking slowly at his pulse, maybe drag her fingernails down his back, guide his fingers between her legs, sink to her knees and take his cock into her mouth. But there was something so silken and slow about how things had progressed so far, and something inherently tender in the way he was touching her, she felt no real desire to push it any further.

She slipped her fingers through his hair, smooth and dark with water, and held his head down against her shoulder so she could feel his breath cool against her wet skin.

He ran his thumb down the pale curve of her spine, tracing each ridge slowly, and she felt soapy suds run down the backs of her legs.

"You're good at this, Caffrey," she murmured against his ear, her eyes closed.

"Mm-hm," he answered, and he turned her back under the spray gently, arms around her waist, lips pressed against her shoulder. "I'm good at a lot of things."

"You're also a total smart ass," she whispered.

He gave a low laugh that hummed against her skin. After a moment he traced his lips up to her neck, sucking water beads away from the solid beat of her pulse, grazing his teeth against the edge of her jaw, catching her earlobe with his tongue.

She kept her eyes closed, her arms around his neck, her fingertips buried in his hair, and she thought how nice it was to just let someone embrace her for a while, to have someone to lean on.

The sky was a purple backdrop to the city, which was starting to light up. Sara stood in front of the windows for a moment, absent-mindedly rubbing her hair with a towel and listening to Neal's feet pad back and forth on the floorboards as he gathered cups and brewed tea.

She sank onto the couch beside him, naked beneath a silk robe, and watched him pour out the tea. He'd changed into a pair of striped pyjama pants and a white t-shirt, but his hair was still dark and mussed.

"This is all very domestic," Sara said after a moment.

Neal grinned and passed her a cup of steaming tea without looking up at her. "How careless of us," he said. "Falling into domesticity so easily."

"Well," Sara said, rather defensively, "it's just not how I pictured the evening, really." She blew across the surface of her tea gently. "Is this all because I had a bad day?"

"You're allowed to have bad days," Neal said, sprawling back against the couch and looking over at her. "You know," he added, taking her hand, "I'd hate for you to think I only want you here for one thing."

Sara felt a slight chill of apprehension. "I don't do domesticity very well," she said hesitantly.

"We don't have to," Neal said, tracing a thumb against the lines on her palm. "But you know, you can always come by and just talk. Or shower."

She smiled at him and curled up against the corner of the couch. "I'll keep that in mind."

They drank their tea in silence, which, to Sara, felt only a little uncomfortable. Neal seemed utterly at ease, as always, and she wondered what it would take for her to let her own guard down as much. She wanted to – at least, she thought she did – but defences had always been easier to put up than take down.

Neal cupped his hand over her bare foot and rubbed his fingers gently against her ankle. Sara watched him, but he was apparently lost in thought, gazing down into his dregs of tea. She didn't want to be the one to break the silence.

Neal's fingers began to press gently against the sole of her foot, and it was only when she squirmed he looked up. "Finished?" he asked.

She passed him her empty cup, and watched as he took everything back to the kitchen. She was warm and comfortable, but still tired, and she began to wonder just how early she'd be able to leave in the morning in order to get back to the office and try to fix the mess that today had been.

When he came back, Neal stood behind her and stroked his fingers against the back of her neck.

"What are you doing?" Sara asked nervously.

"I'm not going to strangle you," he promised. "If I'm allowed to brag –"

"Like a lack of permission will stop you," she interjected.

He laughed and squeezed her shoulders gently. "I give a pretty good massage."

Sara breathed out and let her head fall forward as he rubbed his fingers against her skin. "It's such a cliché," she mumbled, closing her eyes. "Good looking artist, amazing skill with his hands when it comes to absolutely everything. Give me a break."

"I love it when you compliment me and insult me all at once," Neal said, and she felt him kiss the top of her head. His fingers traced a sensitive spot against her neck, and she squirmed again.

"Tickle me, and you're dead," she warned.

"And now you're threatening me," he said in amusement.

She relented. "Sorry," she said.

He grinned against her neck, kissing her skin softly while his fingers rolled deep against her shoulders.

"What's this going to cost me?" Sara asked drowsily.

"Oh, it's already paid for," Neal said. "One shampoo mohawk."

She laughed and reached up behind her to touch her hand against his cheek. "Worth it."

"So," Neal said, his mouth against her ear, his head on the same pillow as hers, "did your day get better?"

"I hate to admit it," she said, teasingly, "but you really know how to cheer a girl up."

"Imagine what I could do with more notice," Neal said.

"Caffrey?" she whispered. She rolled over and cupped his cheek with her hand, touching her thumb against the corner of his mouth.

He opened his eyes. "Hi."

"If you ever have a bad day," she said softly, "you'll let me know, right?"

"Sure," he said easily. "But you know, I don't have that many, these days."

She smiled and kissed him. "It's all perspective, huh."

"Absolutely," he said, and his fingers tangled in her hair so he could pull her close and kiss her again. "But hey," he added, "Sara, I don't mind turning your bad days into good ones. Don't feel like you have to get through them alone."

"Total chick-flick moment," she whispered against his mouth.

"I won't tell if you won't."

She laughed, low and quiet, and kissed him again.