Spoilers: All of Season 2.
Summary: Set post-Mommy's Bosses. After a slight hiccup, they finally get things set straight. Diana/Marco.
A/N: Written for scifiroots fic_on_demand request. Betaread by Fanwoman.
She hadn't meant to stop by the door and listen, but something made her do it. Her senses told her it'd be better if she didn't barge in, and yet, when it came down to it, she couldn't bring herself to knock on the slightly ajar door. Instead, she found herself waiting at the side, on the threshold but not entering - only able to hear his end of what was presumably a phone conversation as he tried to reassure someone.
“Sure. No, no, I'm not busy. I'll be over at six. Plenty of time to get to it.”
Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the last sentence, and it set her mind racing, trying to figure out what, exactly, he was talking about. It probably didn't mean anything, and it was silly, really, because it couldn’t mean what she’d first thought.
“I've already said I can make it.”
Back to reassurance. Whoever it was seemed certain he shouldn't or wouldn't actually make it. Why? She could only guess, but he seemed willing to do whatever it was, enough to try and convince them.
“No, I am not doing anything with Diana.”
Leaning against the wall for support, and to hide out of sight, she perked up at the mention of her own name. Why would they think he was doing anything with her unless they knew there was something going on... and perhaps disapproved of it, or were even jealous?
“We're just friends, okay?” It was said with some degree of frustration, sounding like he believed that was all there was to it. Friends.
That's when she decided it was time to stop this nonsense. She spun into action, giving a light, quick rap on the door, not waiting for an answer before walking on in. The phone call ended abruptly, with an excuse and further confirmation he'd be there, but no clue as to where that was.
“Marco,” she said curtly, sounding sharper than she'd meant.
“Diana,” was his neutral reply. It seemed off for him not to be overly enthused about seeing her, but then she hadn't given him the warmest welcome, herself.
“Got a hot date?”
She'd meant to say something else - she really had meant to - but that was what had come out, just as sharp as her first word to him and with a healthy dose of almost vicious questioning, daring him for an answer. It was no surprise he gave her an odd look before responding warily.
“...why do you ask?”
She tried to loosen up and lose the tenseness as she said, “Just curious.” Despite the attempt, it didn't work, and it was painfully obvious something was bothering her. It shouldn't have. They weren't actually dating; it'd just been dinner…dinner and a year of courting. Everything they’d said and done over that year had led her to believe there was more to their relationship than pure friendship, and with the kiss she'd given him…surely that had cemented it?
But she couldn't say for certain exactly what was going on; she had no way of knowing just what he thought of the situation, what it meant to him – which was exactly why she couldn't dismiss the doubts about what she'd heard. She'd wanted some insight into him, some way of knowing, though obviously listening in on his conversation hadn't been a good idea. But she'd been tempted, as she often was with things related to Marco.
“Were you... eavesdropping on me?” he asked, like he didn't want to believe it, face scrunching up in a mixture of annoyance and defiance.
“I might have accidentally overheard a little, yes,” she admitted, leaning back on the desk behind her.
“I see.” he glanced down, as if pacing himself, thinking carefully before reacting. It shouldn't have surprised her; he never really got angry. Then he looked straight at her, asking plainly, “Judging by your reaction, whatever you’re guessing I was talking about is way off the mark - and not something you like the idea of. So, come on, 'fess up. What conclusion did you jump to?”
Yep. Not angry, just a little hurt and accusing, and she deserved it. She shouldn't have been listening, and she certainly shouldn't have jumped to any conclusions either, let alone take them out on him. But she wasn't exactly ready to admit all of that.
“I... I couldn't really tell, to be honest.”
Hmm, yeah, like he believed that for a second.
“But you presumed it was something, like say,” his eyes narrowed a little behind his glasses as he paused for dramatic effect, even though he obviously already knew what he was going to say, “– a hot date.”
He could see straight through her, couldn't he? He already knew the answers, what it was she'd thought, and he was playing that up to his advantage. The tone he used suggested he was actually more amused than anything else. Well, if he wasn't taking this so seriously...
“Maybe I did, but can you blame me?”
A small, smug yet cute smile formed before he replied.
“Yes. Yes, I can,” he said, head bobbing as he insisted. He started moving towards her in his ambling way until he was just a step away, and he carried on hushed, as if he was sharing a secret with her, “But you know, you could always make it up to me.”
“Oh, really,” she expressed with mock surprise, “but I heard you were busy tonight. You couldn't possibly make time for me - your friend - when you've promised... whoever she was, that you'd ‘get to it’.”
There was a smile in his eyes as he tried to act as if it was nothing out of the ordinary, but she could tell they were on the edge of something, most likely her finding out just how preposterous her assumptions had been compared to the truth.
“I think maybe I have enough time - before my ‘hot date’ with my sister Celia and the rest of my family, where I'll be ‘getting to it’ putting up decorations with my uncles for my grandmother’s birthday – for you to make it up to me somehow. It's only about five, which gives me...” he glanced at his watch, evidently unnecessarily as she caught the look on his face, “...a whole twenty five hours until I have to be there at six, tomorrow.”
Nothing to worry about at all then, apart from the fact they were still technically friends, as opposed to how things felt between them.
“Yes?” His face fell to a slightly more serious expression, because he obviously had no idea what she meant to do or say next.
“Shut up.” It was said that in the most affectionate way possible, teasing but bordering on being a lustful demand. Playing right along with how they usually were, rather than submitting, he had to tempt fate by refusing, not that it would make a single bit of difference.
“Make me,” he replied as he closed the distance between them, leaving virtually no personal space uninvaded. She didn't care, or rather, she didn't mind, because she actually cared quite a lot.
She didn't tell him that had been exactly what she'd been intending to do; she just went ahead and kissed him. Excuses as to why she shouldn’t kiss him right there, right then, rapidly left her head, and those for why she should started popping up. He was the head of the theory room after all, and it was half an hour after everyone else had left. Ignoring the voices that said it was entirely inappropriate to be making out at work, she pushed up his glasses, took them off and laid them deliberately down on the desk. Unlike their first kiss more than a week ago, this action made it clear it wasn't over - far from it, in fact.
Maybe, when he turned up at the party tomorrow and his sister asked about his friend Diana, he'd correct what he'd said earlier. She wanted no mistake here; this was more than friendship, and not just friends with benefits. The last time they’d kissed, she’d quickly let go, needing to maintain her sense of order and balance. She didn’t want to relinquish this moment so easily, so she pulled him closer. Just this once, she let herself lose control.