There are things he hates about living with Fi. Her cold feet against his in the middle of the night. Finding clots of hair in his tiny shower. The way she blows through his yogurt, steals his clothes to sleep in, eavesdrops and snoops when it suits her, uses the floor as a laundry basket, slams the door at the end of every argument. Oh, and the arguments- exhausting, hours-long, going over the fine points of their jobs until they were both cross-eyed with exhaustion and at each other's throats-

Like he said, there are a lot of things he hates about living with Fi.

But then there are the good things. The weight of her hand in his at the end of a horrible day. Always having an eager sparring partner when he wanted to work out- or when he didn't and she'd jab his ribs or kick at his shins until he did. How her devil's advocate position in arguments helped him pick through the problems with his handler and see the situation more clearly.

Her husky laugh breaking into the intense moments and making him laugh.

The smell of the back of her neck, just below her hairline, the first thing in the morning.

Oh, and the taste of it too.

And the line of her back and the feel of her hips, smooth and luxurious under his hands.

Her hands yanking hard at his hair when she jerks awake and rolls over him and murmurs, "Feeling randy this morning, Michael?"

And the tip of her delicious tongue on the outside of his lips.

Okay, there were some great things about living with Fi, too.