Title: Secret Garden

Summary: Double drabble. Smangst. She'll let you in her heart, she'll let you in her body, but into the secret garden...? Because if you push her too hard...

Music: Secret Garden – Bruce Springsteen


"Is that our relationship? Coffee?"



Her eyes, naked and unfolding like a flower as his rapt, rhythmic fingers sang her to climax, had suddenly closed as petals.

Years of painstaking picking, brushing and chipping – why'd have to take a sledgehammer all of a sudden?

"I love you."

Her eyes chanted it in that moment. He articulated what he saw, what his blood roared.

But succinctly voiced in three words, it gashed open a wound that was old and deep and never fully healed.

Hours after she fled, he still can't quite fathom how the moment he always thought she would open to him fully, somehow became the same moment she locked and bolted him out, pleasegodi'lldoanythingpleasenotforever.

When he hugs his lonely hands around the warm rim of the coffee mug and brings it to his lips, a waft of her musky scent still lingering on his fingers drifts into his nose.

The mug plummets and crashes at his feet, splintering into a thousand confusing shards on the unforgiving tile floor.

The intended comfort of the coffee has disintegrated in sloppy puddles; dark, bitter droplets staining his kitchen and leaving their mark all over him.

His back slithers down the cabinet and he cracks himself, sobbing.


Note: Kay, chill out now. It's just me purging myself of an angsty thought about season 5. But we all know that if handled badly, or if they're not ready, it could go terribly, terribly wrong. Hart, you better not eff it up. Seriously.