just be good to me

The alarm clock blares at full volume on her bedside table and she groans, pressing her face into the pillow.

The moment she tries to get up, she knows something is wrong. Her head feels as though someone is trying to bash it in with a hammer and every joint in her body aches. Desperate to push through it regardless, she decides to allow herself another five minutes before she gets out of bed to take some paracetamol.

A warm arm wraps itself around her back and her eyes fly open. She shifts under the covers, rolling over to find James lying there beside her. Light is streaming in through the curtains and it's so bright that she winces, eyes aching.

"What's wrong?" He asks as she turns away, clutching a hand to her forehead.

"Just a headache," she replies, screwing her eyelids shut again. The mattress shifts beneath them as he props himself up, examining her face for any further signs of pain. "It'll be fine, I just need an aspirin."

She makes an attempt to burrow herself under the duvet, but he beats her to it and presses the back of his hand to her forehead. What had felt warm against her just now is suddenly freezing and she jerks back against the pillow.

"This needs more than an aspirin, Kate. Your forehead's boiling." Air flutters against her back as he peels the duvet away, bending down to grab his clothes.

"Where are you going?"

"To call the PM. There's no way you're going into work in this state."

He's round her side of the bed now and she grabs his arm.

"What do you mean I'm not going to work?!" She protests. "I'm giving myself five minutes, then I'll get up and take some paracetamol or something."

"You're staying here and I'm calling Switch. Tell me the number."

She huffs, giving him an unimpressed glare.

"I'm waiting." His hands are on his hips, and if she weren't feeling so rotten, she'd pull him straight back into bed on sight of just how sexy he looks when he's cross like this. This is enough to make her cave in and recite Number Ten's switchboard number.

"That goes no further than this room." Her attempt to sound vaguely threatening comes out as a croak and she swears under her breath at the smile that appears on her face.

"Scout's honour." The twinkle in his eye tells her that he's going to be making use of it and she sighs, hiding her face in her hands.

By the time he's finished with her landline (having also called in with his own office and explained that he'll be needing the day off), she's fast asleep. After yet another gentle check of her forehead finds that she's still burning up, he leaves a glass of cold water by her bed.

She's clean out of any kind of cold and flu medication, so he tucks a note under the glass on her bedside table and slips out, taking her keys with him.

The car waits for him in her flat's parking space and he drives to the high street, pulling into a spot outside Boots. He has to enlist the help of the cheerful teenage girl in the pharmacy to find the best kind of medication, her face falling a little when he mentions that it's all for his sick girlfriend. An idea begins to form in the back of his mind as he hands over his debit card and he heads off to the supermarket further down the road.

Half an hour later, he's unlocking the Aston Martin, his arms laden with shopping bags. Once he's piled them into the boot, he jumps back into the front seat and drives back to Kate's flat, parking in the exact same spot as the night before. He deposits the medication into one of the shopping bags, grabbing the lot before locking the car. Carrying everything isn't much of a problem, given that he's had to hold onto much heavier things for prolonged periods of time over his career, but it's punching in the code that lets him back into her block that proves to be more difficult.

Once he reaches her door after a short ride up in the lift, he carefully puts the bags down whilst he searches his pocket for her keys. Something makes him stop and look at them as they lie there in his palm: in there, amongst the multitude of keyrings (including the violently bright K that he assumes is from her niece), is the worn out key that has unlocked this front door more times than either of them could count.

Without warning, a yearning to possess one of these himself strikes him; granting him the ability to take her by surprise with dinner after a long day, to leave flowers or an encouraging note, or simply to be there waiting for her when she gets home...

This kind of feeling has never crept up on him before. He never had the chance with Tracy and every single woman before or since hasn't managed to worm their way into both his head and heart for him to consider it.

It should shake him to his core, scare the living daylights out of him, but instead it's thrilling. Exciting.

The only question is, will she let him in too?