A/N: The several lines of lyrics used in this fic are from The Rolling Stones' You Can't Always Get What You Want, and do not belong to me.


He leans on his cane, his back against the wall. He stands in the Clinic, alone and in the dark, seeing as it is after hours and most have gone home for the night. His head is turned to the side, towards the glass wall.

She moves about her office, packing up her things. She files away papers, shuts off her computer, does all the usual motions for someone about to leave. She then moves for the baby car seat sitting on her sofa, and the routine is broken: she reaches inside the car seat and pulls a slumbering baby into her arms. A simple gesture, but one that has never been allowed to her before. Now, though, it is a new part of the routine.

She holds the baby tight in her arms and merely stands there, gazing at the little human. The necessity of leaving for home is temporarily abandoned. Right now, she basks in this moment, and wants nothing more.

Through the glass, he sees it all. He watches her. She watches the baby, does not look at him, but somehow knows, like a sixth sense, that he is watching her.

You can't always get what you want

He stumps forward and enters her office, pushing almost silently on the doors. He moves to stand next to her, though slightly behind, peering over her shoulder at the baby while still able to see part of her face.

He looks down at the child in her arms.

"Joy?" he asks simply.

"No," she replies quietly, brushing her fingertips along the baby's cheek. "Calah."

She lifts her eyes to his. "It means opportunity."

You can't always get what you want

Opportunity. The word sifts in the air like sand through the fingers, swirling, permeating, falling away through the gaps, yet still present on the skin; their gazes hold for a moment, then she turns her eyes down to the baby, her baby, again.

He watches her. She watches her baby.

But if you try sometimes

Opportunity. Allowing someone a chance. Giving something an attempt. Being open. Trying. Neither of them are brilliant at these concepts. Situations both within and beyond their control have scared them into hiding holes, provoked them to pull the shutters down and never open them, to only peek at the beyond.

Yet there is only so long that one can peek through the gaps of the shutters. There is only so long one can peer through the glass wall.

And she is, at last, taking a step outside.

He is supposed to take the next step. She can walk alone, certainly, but – God only knows why –she wants to walk with him. He's just not sure if he can.

He wants to. She wants to. Still, wants aren't always enough. They have wanted to change what their lives have become for years, but have been stuck, unable to break down the barriers they have built themselves, to jump down from the cycling treadmill of their pained existence.

But it's time; they need to try.

You might find

He reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder. It is no marching gait, no boastful stride, no bounding skip. But it's a step.

She leans into his touch, presses her body gently against his. They stand, side by side, eyes on the baby.

A simple gesture. A simple touch.

Simply being together for a few moments.

It isn't much, but at the same time, it is everything.

It's a step. An opportunity.

You get what you need