I've never written for The Hour before, so I'm a bit nervous. This is set after the end of Series 1 but I'm not sure if it's AU for Series 2 or not because I haven't seen it all yet. I hope it's alright and I'd love to know what you think.

He thinks he knows where her flat is.

Bel wanted to be alone, and think about things. He didn't, exactly, but irrespective of whatever mind-blowing revelations might have fallen upon him at the end of the day, it was her who had been fired.

"Alright, Moneypenny," he tells her gently, squeezing her hand with friendly, comforting pressure and smiling at her a little sadly, as they part at the Underground station.

He knows he could go home and write his story; there is certainly a story to be written. But somehow he doesn't feel like he can yet; he is still absorbed in the terrifying greatness of the shock- Clarence, Clarence, of all people, a Soviet agent, a spy. He can barely process it in normal English yet, never mind compelling prose. He doesn't want to process it, part of him doesn't want to believe it yet.

No. Neither does he want to sit and talk about how The Hour was shut down calmly with his father, who would only half understand it all anyway, and he certainly couldn't tell Dad about Clarence, it would make him fret.

He wants... He wants a whiskey. And he thinks he knows where her flat is, he saw her address once, written on the inside cover of one of her notebooks. He probably knows as well as she does, with all the nights she spends sleeping in her office, although he's never actually been before. Taking the steps down to the platforms at an ever increasing speed, he steps onto the train out to Kilburn before he's even thought about it.

…...

He rings the bell at the front door, standing with his hands on his pockets, trying to keep them warm. He's not sure what he'll say when she asks him what he's doing here. There is a buzz and after a second he hears Lix's voice through the little speaker.

"Who is it?" She sounds tired, but not exactly as if she had been sleeping, and a little confused and surprised. And husky. He can almost hear the whiskey on her breath, and it makes him want to sigh.

"It's me," he replies, hoping she'll know.

"Oh," there is a pause for a moment- her surprise has increased- and then, "Come on up, Freddie darling."

She's waiting for him in the doorway to her flat as he reaches the landing. Clad in a black silk dressing gown, with what looks like a similar nightdress underneath, setting off the paleness of her skin, matching the darkness of her hair. She doesn't ask him what he's doing here. She probably already knows, she's looking at him as if it's written all over his face.

All she asks is;

"Do you want a drink?"

She is leaning with her shoulder on the doorframe; a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He nods mutely and follows her into the flat.

…...

It's strange that Lix is a woman who, while he's sober, he's not exactly in awe of, not exactly afraid of, but definitely knows better than to cross; yet, when he's drunk, he will kiss her as boldly as any naively confident chap who hadn't seen her make mincemeat of any number of BBC officials with a look and a casual flick of cigarette ash.

It must have been written all over his face, because she doesn't look in the least surprised now. And she isn't as drunk as he is either. For a woman with such a slight, slender frame- which he has had the pleasure of seeing at very close quarters he remembers clumsily- she can hold her drink admirably; and God knows where they'd all be if she couldn't. She bows her head a little, closes her eyes, smiles at him sadly through her closed lids. Her eyelashes are so long. When she opens her eyes, she turns away from him and puts her empty glass carefully down on the table before turning back to him to look at him properly.

The last time he did this, there wasn't this hesitancy on her part, and he wonders if he's done the wrong thing. But she doesn't look upset and she doesn't look angry with him. She's just smiling sadly at him, still. Then she reaches out, taking hold of his face with her hands, looking at him steadily. He wonders for a moment if she is going to kiss him back, but she doesn't.

"Freddie," she tells him at last, her voice quieter than before, "I just don't want you to need to ask me if we're alright, you and I, all the time? Do you understand me?"

Her voice and hands are gentle, and she is looking at him so tenderly.

He nods haltingly into her hands, and bites his lip.

"We are alright, Lix, aren't we?" he asks.

Her lips widen into a thin smile. But it's no longer as sad as before. There is more life in it.

"Oh, Freddie," she speaks in little more than a breath; close, so much closer to his lips, "We're marvellous, Freddie."

And then she's kissing him; sucking gently on the lip he's just bitten, pushing her tongue into his mouth, tasting of whiskey and cigarettes.

His hands are on her immediately, undoing the silky black waistband of her dressing gown, gently brushing her flat stomach through the thin material of her nightdress, his hands brushing upwards to cup her breast. He holds her close to him, his hand finally reaching her head and tangling in her gorgeous hair as they kiss, and she slips the thin straps of her nightdress off her shoulders. She's been so strong, he thinks, throughout everything that happened tonight, it was Lix who was unflappable. He trails kisses along her cheekbones and over her eyelids, thinking it's nice to see her a little ruffled now.

She cling to him as his hands return to roam her body. To tell the truth, his memories of their last time aren't all that clear, but he can't remember her clinging to him like this, as if her life depended on it. Perhaps she was wounded, was weakened too by tonight, even if she didn't show it as much. Perhaps, he thinks hazily, it was selfish of him to come here. She had said, after all, that she just wanted to go home.

But suddenly she moans with the softness of his kisses as his mouth reaches her long, pale neck, and he knows she's glad he came.

Please review if you have the time.