This is what happens when I imagine that things had been a bit different when they were sorting out the sleeping arrangements in the episode when Paul had a Christmas Party. I can do more if you want me to.

Ann gave Paul an unconvinced look over the top of her empty glass.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" she asked him.

He looked back, giving a quiet say before saying;

"If it's not we can hardly do anything about it now. Everyone will be going to sleep and I doubt anyone's going to appreciate being told to get up and move again."

"No, I suppose not," she sighed too, "We're not very good at organising, are we?"

"We might have been better if you'd had fewer of those," he remarked, tapping the empty glass in her hand, smiling.

"Oh, yes," she let the glass go, letting it drop gently onto the surface of the table, smiling herself and then giggling. She thought she'd be able to stop herself, and then she had a thought, and then she could not stop herself laughing, almost hysterically.

"What is it?" Paul asked her, smiling at her giggling.

"Paul," she asked slowly, "Where are we going to sleep?"

He frowned and did not answer.

"We've forgotten about us, haven't we?" she bit her lip, trying to stop herself from smiling.

He looked at her for another moment.

"I'm surprised you find it so funny," he remarked lightly.

"So am I," she admitted.

He laughed at that too.

"Is there any room at your house, do you think?" he asked.

"We might have some space in the downstairs loo," she replied.

"Hmm," he frowned again, "I know, get your coat on."

"Where are we going?" she asked, standing up nevertheless.

"There's a little flat above the barber's. It's not very well furnished but at least I own it."

She froze.

"Paul," she said, her voice full of warning.

He smiled at her.

"There are two bedrooms," he told her, "Admittedly only one has a bed, but I can easily make do with the settee. That's more space than we have left here, or at your house, and there's eight at Howard and Hilda's."

"I suppose you're right," she agreed, "Alright, but I haven't got a coat, I only came from next door. I don't-..." she muttered, taken aback, seeing how he took his jacket off straight away and offered it to her, "I'm alright. It's far to the car."

"Yes, but I don't think either of us is really fit to drive," he pointed out, "We'll have to walk it."

She sighed, taking the jacket after a moment.

"I don't know," she murmured, eyeing him warily as she put the blazer on, doing up as many of the buttons as she could, "Your parties are alright at the beginning, but I hope they don't all end like this."

He grinned at her.

"Generally not."

"You know what people will say when we get back?" she asked him.

"They need never know," he told her, holding the door open for her, "We can get up and come back early. This lot will probably be in bed until lunchtime."

"Oh, I hope you're right," she told him, going outside.

He followed her, closing the door behind them.

They walked to the end of the Close in silence, as if by agreement, like thieves into the night. All she could think of was what would happen if someone was looking out of one of the windows. They had made their way into the next road before he remarked lightly;

"Funny sort of Christmas."

"Yes," she agreed quietly.

"Oh, come on," he told her, "I know this might not have been exactly how you imagined your night ending, but you don't need to sound that unhappy about it."

"I'm not unhappy," she told him truthfully, "I just-... In fact," she started again, "If I hadn't got married and this had happened in another life I don't think I'd be able to be believe my luck at the moment."

"Really?" he asked, "And why's that?"

"Don't do that, Paul, you don't have to wind me up, I'm not Martin, you know what I mean."

"Sorry," he told her, "Yes, I think I do. I'm very flattered, if you're sure it's not just the gin talking."

She looked him in the eye.

"It's not the gin," she told him quietly, very firmly, "I wish it was."

"Ann-..." he began and did not finish.

She kept walking, not turning her head back towards him. She didn't know why she'd told him that. Not that it wasn't perfectly true. Perhaps, it was the gin talking. Talking, and saying what she already thought. Her pace had increased and his did too to keep up with her. Perhaps this was all just one terribly, terribly bad idea that was bound to end badly. She had to admit that was a distinct possibility. How had they ended up like this anyway? She thought back through it: the silly sleeping arrangements, the party, leaving the house feeling cross, Martin refusing to go-... She let out an audible sigh.

He must have heard her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"You can go back, you know," he told her, "If you're having second thoughts."

"No, it's alright," she replied, "I've walked this far in the cold, I don't want to go back now."

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