A/N: Dearest fans of Clue:

So, this is something I have been working on for a little while. It is based off the movie. I have tried to stay as true to the characters as possible. So I hope you enjoy it.

-Scarlet at Midnight

"Ours reason not to why, but to do and die."


"Merely quoting sir from Alfred Lord Tenison"...

She awoke in a haze. The pressure around her waist shocked her, unable to comprehend through the early morning cloud that consumed her thoughts Correction, early afternoon. According to the watch, on the arm around her. One o'clock. Yes it was late, but due to the events that had occurred the night before, it was understandable. The fact they got any sleep at all was surprising. Her dark hair was messy, but somewhat bearable, and her hazel eyes were restless - not surprising all things considering. She unwrapped herself from the arm that held her tightly, she could not look at the face attached to figure. Not out of shame, but due to the fact that she couldn't process last night's events without some form of caffeine in her system.

She stood up at the end of the bed, her thoughts piercing and legs unstable. Wearing very little, she looked at the discarded, emerald, silk dress that she had worn last night and decided that it was inappropriate for coffee. That night- how she wished she could forget the events of that night. She betrayed her better judgement and glanced at the figure in the big, four post bed. He had turned on his side, obscuring his face from view. She couldn't help but feel relieved, also a little annoyed. She picked up his shirt from the floor, which was all but forgotten about last night - in their lust filled actions- and put it on.

Pacing down the hallway of the empty house, searching for anything that resembled a kitchen. It did not take her long, even in her clouded state, to find the room she was looking for. The next task: coffee. As it brews, her mind is filled with flashbacks from that night -Yvette strangled, Secret Passages, the shock of finding someone dead - the horror consumed her. Everything was rushing back and her head spun at the notion of it all, endless deadly memories and the sickly sweet tune repeats. She shook her head to clear it of the violent thoughts. Not that it would help, those images would haunt her for the rest of her life. She glanced over at the record player in the corner. She need to distract herself, so she walked over to the machine and picked up a record. She turned it on, as the record spun round, the smooth jazz vocals of Ella purred from the gramaphone. She hummed quietly to herself, waiting. Pouring to large cups of the inky liquid, she headed back down the hallway.

There he was, sitting in the bed, reading whatever book was placed on his stand. It didn't matter to her. He looked up as she entered the room.

"I made coffee." She smiled quietly to herself. She wondered if he would even speak to her. When they fought, it was intense. Days without speaking and then it would erupt into a passion that would break most people in two. Not those with experience at least.

Last night they had attended a dinner party, and things got a little out of hand. When they returned they fought quite aggressively, because they couldn't do anything by halves, and then resolved it. In their own little way, as always.

He removed his glasses and hopped out of the bed, walked towards her, removed the two cups from her hand and placed them on the dresser behind them. He embraced her passionately and met his mouth to hers with a great force. He tasted like cigar smoke and brandy. He held her so tightly she had no choice not to reciprocate, she met his force equally. The music continued to drift down the hallway, only adding to the intensity of the moment.

There was something about him. He made her forget everything about that night, ironically he should bring up those awful memories, but when they were like this, nothing else mattered. He was not the first man, certainly not. She was not perfect - a Madame - neither was he. The fact that they knew each other's past and still accepted the other. So alike in their flaws, whether it be adulterous, lecherous or criminal. That's is why they fought so much: to similar to ignore, to different to get along. She broke away first then so did he, reluctantly.

"Good Morning."

"Good Afternoon."

He checked his watch for a moment. "You're right."

"Why do you sound so shocked?"

"Because this is not a common occurrence." She hit him lightly, as she picked up her cup and returned to the bed. He rubbed his arm, pretending to wince in pain, with a smug sense of satisfaction. She would get him back, she always did. He slipped in next to her, innocently sipping his cup. The play of sarcasm was normal between them.

"Last night..."

"Is nothing to worry about." She cut him off a little too quickly. "Tensions were high, but we dealt with it," giving him, her mischievous smile. He moved closer to her.

"Scarlet, its okay," he began to say as he put his arm around her.

" Are you trying to comfort me? Or just trying to get at me, Plum?" She stared at him intensely. Co-dependency was not her style.

"Which one will get me in less trouble?" He stated raising an eyebrow playfully.

"Stop it. Wasn't last night enough for you?" she smirked.

"You're never enough for me."

"Don't I ever wear you out?"

"With you, I can't afford to be worn out. You might go to someone else."

"That's why I like to try to keep you worn out."

There was a brief pause. They playfully eyed each other off.

"I love you." He said earnestly.

"I humour you." She stated sarcastically.