Written from this prompt, at otpmusings . tumblr . com: Person A is scheduled to visit Person B that evening, but it's raining heavily and by the time they arrive, they're pretty wet. B lets them in and goes to get them a towel, while Person A sits on the sofa. When B comes back, they intend to simply hand A the towel and let A get on with it. But instead, they instinctively take a seat next to A, and starts drying A's hair themselves. Both parties are a little taken aback, softened by B's casual, unexpected affection. A catches B's eye, and B gently stops what they're doing. Either A or B leans into the other, and they end up having their first kiss.

Ned doesn't know why he's surprised, when the knock is forty-seven minutes later than it was supposed to be, when all three of his text messages go unanswered. It seems fitting that the rain has begun, falling in sheets, turning the pavement to a puddled blur of streetlights every time he peers through the blinds to see if her car is pulling up.

He feels so frustrated, bordering on anger, not knowing where she is, what she's doing. He's only known her a short time, he's almost certain that she has to be investigating something, some clue or mysterious coincidence, but it could be anything. She could be in trouble; she could have forgotten they had even planned to get together tonight. Or maybe someone else asked her out on a date…

It's almost frightening, how much he wants to be with her, all the time. To learn everything about her, to hear her laughter, to be there to help her. That's what he finds most frustrating, that he's stuck here waiting and missing her so much.

He's never felt this way about anyone before. Never. It's almost frightening.

Then he sees Nancy's car, and his anger and frustration, everything he's even considered saying, just melts away in relief and a rush of joy, because she's here.

His heart is pounding by the time her knock sounds at his door. He wants to rush across the room, to open the door before she's even finished knocking, but he forces himself to take his time.

His mouth drops open slightly when he sees her. She isn't wearing a coat, and she's been completely drenched by the rain; at a glance he can tell that this is more than what would have happened if she had dashed from her car to the shelter of the apartment's lobby. Her blonde hair is falling in sodden dark ropes to brush against her dripping dress. Her teeth are chattering slightly.

"Nan! Come in…" He reaches for her elbow and guides her over the threshold. Her arms are wrapped tight over her middle. She's trembling a little with the cold.

"Ned, I'm so sorry—I'm sorry…"

He shakes his head. "Sit down. Let me get you a towel; you have to be freezing."

She crosses to his couch, but hesitates, her steps slowing. "I don't—I'll get water all over it…"

"Sit down," he tells her again, with a little gesture, and waits until she reluctantly obeys before he goes to the linen closet and pulls out a big, fluffy towel, one his mother bought for him a few days after he moved in. He dressed well for their date: smoke-gray button-down, blue and white striped tie, his favorite charcoal slacks, shined shoes. She looks bedraggled; even her makeup is smeared a little, her face is so wet. She's wearing a burgundy dress, thin fabric, silky, that clings to her. Her pantyhose—he sees the shape of her knee, her heeled shoes, the bone of her slender wrists. He wants to, for one insane moment, wrap his finger and thumb around her wrist, circle it like a bracelet, feel her pulse beating against his skin.

He takes it all in in a second, and he almost hands her the towel. He can't say why he doesn't; he can't say why he lets half of it drape around her and brings the other half up to her head, to start drying her hair. "So tell me about it," he murmurs, casting a brief glance into her wary blue eyes.

"You're not mad?"

He shakes his head slowly, still gently squeezing the water from her hair as he glances into her eyes again. "You're here with me," he says. "You're in one piece. Tell me about it."

Ned's hungry. His phone goes off twice while Nancy's talking about the case, about what kept her away from him. She spotted a suspect, pursued him down at the pier, but lost track of him. She found a clue, and she shows him with her eyes alight. She's still shivering, though.

And he doesn't care about anything outside her. It's the most exhilarating, most unsettling feeling he's ever experienced. "Let me get you something to wear," he tells her.

She makes a soft distressed sound. "I… I thought we could still go out, but I probably look like a mess," she says, frowning slightly. "I've just screwed up everything, haven't I. And you look so… good."

He smiles; he can't help it, and in return she smiles at him, and in her sodden dress, her hair in damp messy waves, her mascara smeared, she's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. "So do you," he tells her.

He can tell that she wants to contradict him, but neither of them can break their joined gaze. She searches his eyes, and he feels the shift in the air between them, a spike in the charge that's always humming silently when they're together.

And she tilts her chin just a little, her lips parting, and he doesn't think. He just leans down and meets her, pressing his lips gently to hers.

It's electric. His heart rises, and she sighs quietly. He's not sure how long it lasts, but when he finally pulls back, his head is spinning a little. Her lips are reddened, her lashes low, and she takes a slow, trembling breath before she looks up into his eyes again.

"Wow," she whispers.

"Yeah." He wants to kiss her again, especially when he sees that almost giddy smile on her face. He knows he's grinning too. "I'll get you something to wear and we can order pizza. Chinese. Whatever you feel like. We'll just go out next time. And we can talk about your case."

Her own smile becomes a grin, even though she shivers again slightly. "You want to? Really?"

He nods. "Be right back. Okay?"

When he comes back, though, he sees only a damp place on the couch. He can hear water running in the bathroom, and she opens the door a little to take the clothes he's offered. She comes out a few minutes later, her face scrubbed clean, wearing an Emerson t-shirt that swallows her whole, a pair of black sweatpants with the cuffs rolled up and the drawstrings pulled tight. He's lit candles, and in the perpetual hush and swish of the falling rain, his otherwise ordinary apartment feels cozy and intimate. Perfect for a date. Perfect for more slow, sweet kisses.

"You look great," he tells her, and she grins, ducking her head, tucking damp hair behind her ears.

"We'll just have to do the dress-up thing another time," she says. "And now I'm way too underdressed."

He shakes his head. "Perfect," he says. "So, of the infinite delivery options here at Chez Nickerson…"

It's the best date of his life. They share a pizza by candlelight, as her hair dries to blonde kissed by red, in soft waves he wants to run his fingers through. The rain pours down and he couldn't care less. Her excitement, her eagerness to share her case with him is infectious; it makes him feel important, and proud, that she would share something she loves so much with him. That she would trust him to help her. He promises her that he'll help her the next day, that he's at her disposal.

The second kiss they share, they almost crash together in their haste, and her hair is soft under his fingertips, her skin warm and still faintly damp. It makes him wonder, makes him dream…

The third kiss is at his door, when it's well past time for her to head home, when they've tried to say goodbye half a dozen times already, while he's asking her to promise to pick him up on the way tomorrow. She's promising, her blue eyes wide and eager, her still-damp dress draped over her arm, and then her fingers are in his hair and he's pressing her against the wall beside his door, his tongue in her mouth, his heartbeat so loud she has to hear it. She moans quietly and the sound sends a frisson of desire down his spine. He imagines it, so quickly that it's just an image: his bed, sheets in a tangle in morning sunlight, sleepy blue eyes gazing into his.

Then he pulls back and those same beautiful blue eyes are looking into his, and they're both panting quietly.

"Tomorrow," she whispers, both a promise and a vow.

"Tomorrow," he replies, brushing his lips against hers again.

He can't wait for the next best date of his life, because it will be with her.