So.. I haven't posted in what feels like forever. I believe I'm going through a very long "everything-I-write-is-crap" stage. It sucks. But I bit the bullet and finally decided to post something. I hope it's enjoyable. Thanks for taking the time to read :-)


After his attempt at diffusing the situation with formal talk, the sight of the two of them trying to ignore each other became too much. Ryan held up his phone mumbling something about trace results and shuffled out of the room.

She watched their only buffer leave and all she could do was stand frozen, her back turned to him. At that moment she wished she could feel something from him; some warmth from his form, a whisper of his breath on her head, a brush of his elbow on her back...

She ached for contact, but couldn't allow herself to cross the line. Guilt tore her in two directions almost equally. She knew they both of their jobs were at risk if they didn't comply with the 'no contact rule', but her need to fall into him was just as strong.

He heard her take in a slow breath, imagined her eyes fluttering closed the way they would when he held her close. The thought caught him off guard and he stopped, placing his hand on the locker door leaning is head into it.

He opened his mouth to say her name, but nothing came out. He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted to pull her close and test if her lips felt the same as he remembered. It felt too long since they'd really been together and words couldn't begin to outline what he wanted to convey to her. So tentatively, he slid is hand over her hip turning her to face him.

Their eyes met, hers were glassy, his cast down immediately.

She caught his hand as it slid away from her hip and pulled it around to her lower back.

In one motion her forehead hit his chest, her arms clasped around his middle. He rested his cheek on her head; his hands pulled her impossibly closer.

The fit of their bodies felt familiar to him in a world of constant change. His brain, their jobs, IAB, his father, more therapy, more memories he couldn't account for...

She wanted to say 'I miss you,' he wanted to say, 'I'm sorry'. But words were difficult, held too many meanings. Their contact was pure. It was need and love and confirmation that despite everything, they were okay.

He turned their bodies slowly so her back was to the lockers and pulled her head back to study her face. In the weeks since his second surgery, he could recall her in his memory, but not as vividly as he wanted. Just like last time things were scrambled and he wasn't sure what was real.

She searched his eyes as he confirmed the exact colour of hers. Moving her palms to bring his face down to hers, she pressed their together, both fighting back a hunger for more. He moved his lips against hers once, twice and she complied; both spoke to each other in the only way they could.

A shrill beep at her hip brought their motions to a halt and she rested her forehead on his chest once more, checking her text messages.

"My interview," she said quietly, showing him the message from Stetler.

He nodded taking a small step back from her. He looked deep into her eyes, hoping to convey that everything was good between them. That he loved her.

She nodded back, giving him a smile in return and moved to leave. His hand caught hers giving it a tight squeeze.

I still go home knowing I've got you, there's only us when the lights go down

You are my heaven on earth.