Author's note: I can't remember how I came up with this fic, simply that a friend of mine wanted a ficlet for one of her Underworld ships, where one was worrying about the other. I get a lot of challenges from my friends, which is good for my muse. I need more, I think. Beside the point though. Anyway, on with the disclaimer and the fic. Please review.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters mentioned herein. They are the property of Danny McBride, Kevin Grevioux, Len Wiseman, and Sony. I mean no copyright infringement. Please, do not sue me. Savvy?



He was supposed to be there by now. It was unlike him to be late. He was never late. Sometimes early, but never late.

She wasn't worried. She didn't allow herself to worry. To feel concern, fear. She was just puzzled. Confused. Her mind was simply trying to determine why he was late, if something had happened, if there was need for alarm.

Not that she would feel alarm. Others would, she would tell them to worry, to look, to make certain he was safe, to find him and see if there was need to fear or need to calm down, to breathe a sigh of relief.

Though she would not. She had no reason to, for there would be no relief. Only taking in the knowledge that he was indeed fine. But she felt no worry, therefore she would not feel relief.

He was late.

It was her most prominent thought, because she knew how much he hated tardiness. She remembered how dedicated he was to always arriving before or on time, how that mattered to him.

One time she had asked him, why he was always so determined never to be late. He had answered simply that it was something he had been taught from an early age, and nothing more.

They never spoke much. They never elaborated. They never added on, or told little secrets, or spilled their guts or bared their souls. It just was not who they were. It was not a part of their lives, of their relationship. They rarely spoke, and when they did, it was always brief.

Just like he always arrived in time. On time. Not late. He was never late.

Except for now. Now he was late.

And she only wanted to know why. She was not worried. She was not scared. She was not concerned.

That would involve too much emotion, and emotion was not a part of their relationship. They did not show emotion, they did not share it, they did not have need of it, or want of it. When they tended to wounds, when they kissed, there was not emotion.

Lust. It was all physical lust, nothing more. She felt lust now. But he was gone, and he was late, and she did not know why he was late, and she did not have him there to sate her lust. She lusted for him. But he was late.

The door opened, it was him, he was there, late, but there. Solemn-faced as usual, wet with rain, but there.

She merely looked, she did not show any sign of relief, there was no relief. She nodded to him, her eyebrows raising in question.

"Kraven sent me out to retrieve something, and I could not refuse without drawing suspicion," Soren told her.

Amelia nodded. "I understand," she told him, her hand lifting, beckoning him closer. She stroked his cheek as he sat next to her. She kissed his lips.

She signed in relief. He was only late.