Thank you all for the lovely reviews on the last chapter - they're massively appreciated! This is Hannah (HedgieX)'s chapter - enjoy!

It turned out that Tom did have chicken nuggets in the freezer, and also that they were Nicki's "favourite food in the whole wide world, except for barbeque sauce". He considered questioning whether barbeque sauce was, strictly speaking, a food, but decided against it because she seemed too busy devouring the nuggets to engage in conversation.

They sat opposite each other at Tom's little Ikea table in the middle of the kitchen, Tom with his back to the patio doors. Tom was drinking water, as he didn't really want to kill her when he took her home, and Nicki had a bottle of beer ("Would you like red or white wine?" "Wine?" "Yes, wine." "How can you possibly drink wine with chicken nuggets?"). Between them stood a large bowl of chicken nuggets, which had now become an almost-empty bowl.

Tom had laid out forks, but Nicki was unconcernedly delving her fingers into the bowl. She was quite a dainty eater, which surprised him – he thought that anyone who'd once been in the army would scoff anything dumped in front of them – but gosh, she ate fast. Stop watching her, Tom. She's not an exhibit. It had been a while since he'd shared a meal with anyone, now Josh was gone, especially a meal such as this, with a person such as this.

"So," she said, wiping her fingers on the kitchen roll he'd folded into messy little triangles go beside the forks, "The play."

"Must we?"

"We've made a commitment." He couldn't tell whether she was being serious or sarcastic. Her fringe had fallen over her eyes, and he was tempted to lean over and push it back because he missed the warmth of her gaze on his face. "We owe it to the children to do the best we possibly can for them, to give them something wonderful to remember."

"Was it the beer or the chicken nuggets that did this to you?"

She made a noise like a frustrated hedgehog. Not that he knew what a frustrated hedgehog sounded like, or even if hedgehogs often became frustrated; it just came to mind.

"It's just supposed to be a bit of fun, Nicki. It's Waterloo Road, for Christ's sake, we're hardly going to give the RSC a run for their money, are we?"

He thought that she looked a bit sad, suddenly. He thought about regaling the gossip from the last school play and promising her that it couldn't get any worse, but he didn't want to tempt fate. There were probably many things that could beat last time in the calamity stakes, like Grantly falling off a ladder whilst painting the backdrop, and spending the next decade hobbling around moaning.

"Got any ice cream?"

He knew for a fact that there was some Ben and Jerry's cookie dough in the freezer, but he wasn't going to tell her that. "Nope."

"What kind of a man doesn't have ice cream ready for a damsel in distress?"

"You're distressed?"

"My car broke down," she reminded him. Her knees brushed his as she pulled her handbag onto her knee, and his heart pounded. No. She's a damsel in distress, and you're simply a friend helping her out. "I need some milk," she said.

"Do you have a hedgehog in there?" Seriously, what was his obsession with hedgehogs tonight?

She gave him a look that said 'just fetch the milk, Clarkson'. She'd moved her hair from across her face, and her eyes were warm and playful. He stood up and went across to the fridge as she rifled through her bag.

"Will semi-skimmed do, your ladyship?"

She nodded. "We need a bowl and a whisk as well."

"Next you'll be asking for play dough and wires. I really think it'd be best if we left North Korea to the powers that be."

He took everything back to the table, and Nicki added the milk to the bowl, followed by a sachet of something powdery and pink. He was beginning to wish he'd handed over the cookie dough, actually. "And this is?"

"Angel Delight," she said proudly. He could see her muscles contracting as she whisked the mixture, even through her work shirt. "Please don't tell me you've never had Angel Delight. Oh, your poor, deprived son."

"Was your drink spiked or something?"

"This stuff," Nicki said, getting up and finding bowls and spoons with the ease of someone who'd been visiting for years, "Was like gold dust when I was in the forces. Made it whenever we could get our hands on milk, it's amazing how much a bowl of this can boost morale."

She looked suddenly sad again. She had more ups and downs than a yo-yo.

"Nicki–"

"Shush, I'm concentrating."

She split the mixture between the two bowls and put them in the fridge, then moved through to the lounge and stood looking out of the window at the water below. He stood in the kitchen doorway and thought that she looked like a child who'd never seen the sea, her fingers held up to the glass.

She wouldn't have seen the sea much when she was in the army, would she? He wondered about the things she had seen, how much she'd suffered.

"Nice view."

"Mm," he cleared his throat, "Nicer when the water isn't minus fifty degrees."

"Right, let's see the notes you've made about the second scene in act two, then."

Oops. "I've not quite–"

"Tom." Her glare was icy when she wanted it to be. He could see why the PRU was thriving; you wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of Nicki Boston. Although he meant that nicely. She was one of those people you really wanted to make proud of you, and the work she'd done with Scout (after an initial disagreement) had been remarkable.

"We had an agreement, I'd do scene one and you'd do scene two. Hardly very taxing, given how many times you've taught Romeo and Juliet before. A commitment, Tom."

"And who did almost all of act one, despite having a million better things to do, whilst you sat and moaned? You've changed your tune from being more interested in your Love Hearts."

"I'm sorry about the Love Heart thing, okay? I didn't mean to fling them that hard." She came towards him again. "Did it hurt?"

"They were bloody Love Hearts, not bullets."

"Maybe the world would be a happier place if only Love Hearts were used as weapons." Momentary sadness, again, and then another of her beautiful smiles. "We could send Mr Kim Jong Un one with Stay Cool on it as well."

"That may not pacify him."

She was very close to him now, in the middle of the kitchen he'd shared with nobody for so long. She brought one hand up to the side of his face and ran her thumb down it without breaking eye contact. More temptress than damsel in distress. He could smell her perfume, rich and fruity, and it mingled in with the fresh apple scent of her hair.

Part of him said it was the drink and that she was probably bipolar and that he needed to move away. The other part (a much larger part) said that he wanted to care for her no matter how damaged she was, that he had to stay close, that he wanted this so very much.

"Oh," she said, "I thought it was a bruise, from the Love Heart, but it's just ink."

"Oh," he agreed.

She lowered her hand, but neither of them moved. Nicki's cheeks coloured like someone had dusted them with Angel Delight powder. She wants this too.

"The Angel Delight will be ready now," she said softly, "You got any sprinkles?"

He didn't, but she said that chocolate buttons would do. They ate silently at the table, Nicki faster than him, so that she sat watching him as he finished off his dessert. Cor blimey, she wasn't very subtle, was she?

"Thou frothy, fat-kidneyed moldwarp."

"I beg your pardon?"

She smiled, emphasizing each word as though he was a particularly dim-witted student, "Thou reeky, dread-bolted measle. Oh come on, Shakespearean insults?"

"It's supposed to be Rom and Jule, they're supposed to be in love. I am the west and Juliet is the sun is probably more like it."

"East, darling."

He could feel himself going bright red. He snatched her bowl from her and went to the sink to rinse their crockery under the tap. He could hear her behind him muttering to herself, something about yeast and onions. Was it offensive to ask someone if they'd thought about seeing a psychiatrist?

"You're a co-director, Tom. If your heart's not in it, if you have no passion, how are you going to convince any of the children going to take this seriously?"

"Don't start ranting at me again."

"I'm not ranting. If you don't want to help, then don't, I'll do it myself." She stood up and pushed her chair under the table, flouncing off towards the door.

He realised he really didn't want her to go. "Nicki, I'm sorry, I–"

"Have you got a spare coat?"

Shit. "You can't walk in this, I'll give you a lift, but I–"

"Oh, I'm not going home yet."

"Aren't you?"

"No. We're going outside to act out the script, get some ideas. I'm sure there must be some enthusiasm for our project, even if it's buried deep inside of you, and I intend to discover it," she said.

"Do you?" Over my dead body.

She discovered his coat rack and looking through a couple of battered tweed-ish jackets with her nose turned up. She found an oversized blue jumper and pulled it on over her head; her hair stuck up as though she'd rubbed a balloon on the top of her head. He smirked. She threw one of the tweet jackets at him along with another icy glare.

"I wasn't joking about the minus fifty."

"And I'm not joking about this. I made you Angel Delight, so you owe me." She leant down to use the door as a makeshift mirror so she could tidy her hair. "You must know what it's like when something's important to you, and this is important to me, okay? You don't have a choice, you're going to help me make this show someone nobody will ever forget."

He saw that he was going to lose this battle. Strangely, he didn't mind too much. "Alright, Little Miss Bossy, if you insist."

"Which I do. Come along, Romeo," she dragged him to the door by his sleeve, "If I'm impressed with your attitude, I might just give you another Love Heart."