You were in a borrowed car, staking out Martin West, suspected of being involved in a data-leak plot tied to a foreign intelligence service.

You’d been tailing him across the city, keeping your distance, blending into traffic, trying not to spook him. “Roddy, thank fuck you’re here.”

You’d called him to track you and meet you near the handoff point, just in case it all went left and West clocked you and then subsequently killed you.

Roddy wasn’t exactly your first choice, but as it happened, everyone else in Slough House was busy. For it being Regent Park's dumping ground, that's pretty fucking amazing.

“I never disappoint—” Roddy starts, a smug grin on his face.

You cut him off when you see the man glance over his shoulder, scanning the street like he knows someone’s following him.

Thinking fast, you grab Roddy, pull him in, and kiss him. Roddy’s surprised, but his hands land on your waist automatically, like muscle memory kicks in before his brain does.

His lips are surprisingly soft, and if you weren’t careful, you might’ve just gotten lost in it, kissing long enough to sell the act.

When you finally separate, the man is gone. But at least you weren't shot.

“If you had a thing for me,” Roddy smirks, clearly enjoying this far too much, “you could’ve just said so.”

You already know it.

You’d never hear the end of this, not from Roddy, and definitely not from the rest of the team.