A/N: The muse made me do this. I swear. Or maybe it's cabin fever setting in after 12 non-stop hours of drizzle... or pre-b-day blues… whatever…


The sound of the door slamming after her reverberates like a gun shot.

Way to go, genius. Now you've lost her for good. I wanna see you make up for THAT piece of crap you just pulled on her…

You stop me before this goes any further. What do I mean "lost"? She wasn't your to loose. She's never been yours. At least, not in real life. Your dreams, your fantasies, those are different matters. Who cares if it's her name that pours from your lips every time you bring yourself to orgasm… orgasm that was achieved mainly by picturing the two of you together, your mouth on her flesh, your hands on her hair, yourself buried so deep inside her you never wanted to separate again? Nobody cares, buddy. Nobody gives a rat's ass about your wants.

Which, I must say, it's just fair; since you just proved for the umpteenth time that you don't give a rat's ass about hers, either.

What were you thinking? Or rather, not thinking? How could you disrespect her like this? This is certainly a new low for you, and you know that. Problem is, you also know there's no way in hell you're gonna be able to fix this.

You could feel it in her the way her eyes turned cold. Or in the way her smile froze and turned into a grimace. Or in the way your own gut began twisting like a knife in your insides. Or perhaps it was my voice inside your head that kept on screaming for you to shut up. Just to shut the fuck up before it was too late.

But you were riding your high almighty horse of dignity, weren't you? Your precious fucking ego was at stake and you chose to ignore everything but your snobby male attitude. So your insecure insignificant self felt attacked… and how do you face it? By turning tables around and attacking HER. You really are a piece of work, you mother fucking sorry excuse of man.

She's always been there for you and you know it. That reaming you just gave her was totally uncalled for, completely unfair, and you know it. She knows it as well, that's why she behaved like the only adult in the room and left without saying a single word, without even looking back at you as she did. And now you find yourself like this, crumpled on a chair, feeling like your heart is slowly being shredded to pieces. Welcome to her life, moron, that's exactly how you've been making her feel the last couple of months.

Nice. Real subtle. Go ahead; crack all the bones in your hand by punching the wall as hard as you can. Wasn't she the one to tell you once that whenever your hand got into an argument with a surface involving concrete it was usually your hand who lost? That one time she was sitting right next to you in the ER, waiting patiently as they took the X-rays showing that, for once, you managed not to break anything. She was the one that drove you back in complete silence, not once throwing an "I told you so" comment or glance. She also refused to join in when everyone else ganged up on you and gave you a hard time about it, as well. Bet you just remembered you forgot to thank her back then, huh?

How unlike you, to forget. You've always taken her presence for granted. For crying out loud, don't give me that crap about being professional! Professional, your ass, since you can't even find it with both hands in the dark, not even to save your life! You. Just. Lost. Her. Idiot. Has it gotten into that thick skull of yours? Well? Has it?

You make me sick. You're worse than all those bastards you spend your life trying to catch. At least they have a "valid" excuse for hurting those around them.

Oh, please, don't give me that crap! Save it for yourself, so you can feel good later tonight. What's this nonsense about this "being" for the best"? Whose best? Yours? Hers? You're a fucking coward and you know that. High time you acknowledge it, too, by the way.

And that's not the only thing awaiting for your acceptance, either. What do you mean, what do I mean? Come on, buddy, you don't expect me to buy that feigned look of ignorance now, do you? You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. Oh, you don't? Fine, I'll bring you up to speed.

Three months ago you realized that you loved her. Shut up asshole and don't interrupt me. You do. You love her. Like an idiot. Far worse than an idiot, especially since you haven't done anything about it. Except, perhaps, push her as far away from you as possible, you stinking coward. But that's beyond the point, now, isn't it? You finally achieved what you set out to do, so congratulations.

She could have been the love of your life. She probably was, seeing as you've reached middle age and are still afraid of committing, but that's a different story all together. You might have had a chance, you know. She feels the same way. Or felt. You did a very nice job of convincing her that you just couldn't care less if she lived or died. She took a leap of faith, and instead of catching her, you let her crash to the floor. I'm sure your mother would be so proud of you now…

All right, I'll keep your mother out of this. But I'm not keeping her. Out of this, I mean. There's no way in hell we get to keep her, not after your horny dog maneuver a few minutes ago.

We all agree that facing certain death and miraculously escaping unscathed is enough to rattle anyone, even the most even tempered person in the world, which, by the way, you aren't, in case you haven't noticed. We also agree than when we work so close to someone, and especially in our line of work, deep emotional bonds are formed, and sometimes the boundaries get a tiny wee bit smudged. This wouldn't be the first time you've both found solace in each other arms after an emotional event. Hugging her in times of emotional anguish and distress is almost a second nature to you now, isn't it?

But you knew something was different this time around, didn't you? You knew it the moment you realized just how deep she was looking into your eyes and you allowed yourself to get lost in those big eyes of hers. You knew it the moment you realized her gaze had shifted oh-so-slightly from your eyes to your lips and than back. You knew it before she did that she was going to kiss you and you did nothing to avoid it.

Quite the opposite, huh? If you weren't the fucking bastard that you are you'd probably have done something to avoid it before it even started. You're good at faking clumsy when you need to, you could always take a step back and land on your ass. You seem to have quite a talent for that, now that I think of it. Or you could have just moved your face less than inch to the side, graciously received that kiss on your cheek or chin and allowed her to keep her dignity intact by pretending it was a clumsy move on your part.

But no: You allowed your fucking hormones to get the best of you, allowing the lower head to get the upper hand, if you'll pardon the pun. And you allowed her to kiss you. Granted, you've been hoping for something like that to happen for a long time, so maybe I can oversee your not wanting to miss the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I can almost forgive the fact that you didn't remove your hands from her back after the embrace was done and before the kiss began. "Almost" being the operative word here.

What cannot be forgiven, and I'm sure you agree wholeheartedly with me, is the fact that you kissed her back. Hard. Passionately. And not just once, either. And your hands didn't remain on her back. No sir, you managed to tangle one in her soft hair so you could manipulate her head so you could have a field day feasting on her mouth. And I won't even attempt to explain why your other hand was firmly pressed against her ass, bringing her flush against your body, making sure you felt all her soft curves on yours and making sure SHE felt just how badly you want her.

Let's not venture on the "what if" and imagine just how far you'd have taken that kiss if you had not heard that noise outside the interrogation room, shall we? Let's pretend for a second that you didn't jump out of each other's arms, panting heavily, flushed, head wondering what the hell had just happened and bodies screaming for it to happen again, shall we not? And let's just ignore the fact that she could read in your eyes exactly what you were feeling, 'cause she was feeling exactly the same thing. Let's not do any of those.

But we can't ignore what happened next now, can we? Oh, how can we, when everything going to hell depends on those 23 seconds of imbecility on your part. Where do they teach you such string of nonsense? "Normal reaction after life-altering situations"? "Means nothing"? Oh, really? I mean, REALLY, you fucking idiot????

Didn't you consider, even for the tiniest of instants, just how much it had taken from her to take that step forward? But surely you did notice that you broke her heart, even when she squared her shoulders, nodded curtly and left the room without another word, didn't you?


Didn't you?

What? You expect me to figure out a way to make things better? Oh, that's precious, kiddo. A real gem. You do realize I'm just the voice of your conscience filling the void you feel inside now that your hearts has been blown to pieces, don't you?

Fucking moron…


A/N: Once more, thank you for playing "Let's name that ship!" Make sure you leave the door open on your way out, and feel free to press the review button… or not.