A/N: All Dean/Jo shippers have probably wondered what would've happened if Dean had gone to Jo before and/or after Hell. I had to join the party...this is my take. [shameless plug] If you missed the first installment, be sure to checkout Road to Hell.

Among the things I am thankful for this holiday season, stephaniew ranks pretty high up there. We may bicker and butt heads, but I consider her one of my dearest friends and the big sister I never had. Steph - thank you for getting me through one of the roughest years of my life and reminding me that it's okay to put myself first. You're amazing and I'm incredibly blessed to have you in my life...

Enough sap. On with what ended up being my longest OS so far!

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

Hell's Aftermath

Sioux Falls, September 2008

Dean Winchester is back. He somehow escaped the fires of Hell itself and he is back. Almost seven hours and 400 miles separate Duluth from Sioux Falls, but when the call comes nothing could stop Jo Harvelle from making the trip.

In ten minutes, she's scrambling into the front seat of her old pick-up. In three hours, she's nearly half way. In six hours and 28 minutes, she's staring up into the green eyes of the man she loves. The man she thought she would never see again.

They go through the motions. All of them - Jo, Bobby, Sam and Dean. They play catch up and eat supper. They have a few beers and talk shop. All the while, Dean barely looks at her and, when he does, his eyes are hollow and rimmed with sadness.

Stretching, she goes to bed with a tiny yawn hoping - praying really - he'd come to her. That he'd say something - anything - to let her know where they stand and if he was really okay. But he doesn't. Hours pass and voices fade into quiet.

There's movement in the hallway as someone goes to bed. She hears the old screen door creak and slam below her. Moving to the window, she watches as Dean walks out to the Impala with one hand crammed deep in his pocket and the other wrapped around a bottle.

Jo sighs and weighs her options. Maybe he wants to be alone, not that she would blame him. They'd crowded him all evening. But, then again, she hasn't had a chance to be alone with him. Hasn't had a chance to really talk to him.

Before she knows it, she's slipping on her shoes and buttoning up her shirt. She's turning the knob and quietly making her way down the stairs. Her heart is reaching for him even if she isn't sure what to say.


The stars twinkle brightly over the old salvage yard. It's late. So late, Dean is surprised when Jo sits next to him. He tries not to look at her. Tries not to breathe in the scent of her strawberry shampoo.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" she teases, bumping her shoulder against his.

Dean sips his beer and continues to stare at the sky. "Couldn't sleep," he mutters. Truth is he can't remember the last time he slept. And he's been back for more than a week.

Stealing the bottle from him, Jo takes a drink. He watches the way her mouth curves around the opening. Watches the way her tongue flickers over her plump lower lip as she hands it back. He curses himself as he tries to stop looking at her. Knows he shouldn't want her.

January was a one time thing. A last call. A good bye between friends. Neither of them thought he'd be back. She owes him nothing. And he doesn't have the right to ask. So he won't.

Jo takes a deep breath and gives Dean a sideways glance. Physically, he's perfect. No scars. No evidence of any damage. But she's no fool. She can see it in his eyes.

Contrary to what anyone might think or what she might actually admit, she knows the truth. And the truth is she belongs to him. Like it or not, when she took him into her bed in January, he left with her heart. She is Dean Winchester's woman.

Or one of them anyway.

She shakes off the thought. He's with her. Even if it's just that they occupy the same space. He could've left. Could've gone somewhere else. Found someone else.

Touching him for the first time, she lays her palm against his. Even his fingers are soft. The rough and familiar callouses are gone. The skin is fresh and new. She smiles softly. It won't be for long. The battered skin will return as soon as he's back in the field and working on his beloved car. It'll be...normal.

"Come back to the house," she says, tugging on his hand as she stands.

"Jo," he warns, his voice dark. "You don't want any part of this..."

Turning back, she steps close to his knee. "Any part of what, Dean-O?"

He stares up at the sky and it seems like an eternity before he gives her exactly the answer she's expecting.

"Me, Jo. Any part of me." The confession is slow and deep. It's accompanied by a heavy sigh, one that belies the weight of everything he feels.

"Dean," she says, her head tilting to the side. "You don't get to decide what I want."

A noise between a moan and a growl escapes as he lets go of her hand. His arm snakes up the line of her spine, his fingers tangling in the softness of her hair as he pulls her mouth down to his.

The kiss is feral. It's hot and it's desperate. There isn't a hint of tenderness in his touch or the way he holds her. He wants to scare her. Wants to push her away as far and as fast as he can before he destroys her.

When she whimpers, he releases her. His arm drops limply at his side as she takes a stumbling step backwards. "Go. Now. Before it's too late."

Dean watches as she stands frozen in front of him. Her face changes. He sees the defiance bloom in her eyes in the silvery light of the crescent moon that hangs in the stillness above them.

"No." It's simple, elegant even. A single word that sums it up.

"No?" he repeats, his mouth falling open and his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean no?"

She pushes him. Hard. "Exactly what it sounds like, princess," she cuts, her chin lifting. "I won't let you shut me out, Dean. I won't let you push me away."

"You will because I'm not giving you a choice," he grinds back at her, raising his voice as he stabs at the hood of the car beneath him. "I don't want to hurt you, Jo. And I will. Everyone around me gets hurt."

Jo touches his face. She runs her palms along the stubbled stiffness of his clenched jaw. She leans close. Close enough that their lips are only a breath apart. Whiskey colored eyes burn into the depths of his. Her voice a whisper, the boldness suddenly gone, she tells him, "I'll take my chances."

It's Dean's turn to whimper as her mouth grazes softly over his. It's as light and wispy as a painter's brush stroke. She feathers her lips over his again and again, silently willing him into submission.

She only pulls back when she feels his tears sliding against her palms. She takes his hands and drags him to his feet. "Come on," she pleads. "You need to rest."

He halts and she searches his face. A sob - a cry in the darkness of night - cuts her to the bone. "I can't."

It hits her. Full force. Like a deer caught in the headlights of an on-coming car, she's run down. Bowled over. "Nightmares. You're having nightmares, aren't you?"

She watches as his jaw tightens further and his eyes slam shut. Feels his grip go slack. But he doesn't answer.

"Dammit, Winchester," she says, letting him go and running her fingers through her hair. "Why won't you let us help you?" she asks, her voice soaked with emotion. "Why won't you let me help you?"

He still doesn't say anything. Doesn't move. She won't take 'no' for an answer. Stubborn sonofabitch can just get over himself. Her palm slips against his slowly and she leans in to dust her lips over his cheek. "You're exhausted," she whispers. "You need to sleep."

His eyes close and a single tear streaks over his face. When he opens them, she nearly drowns in the swirling undertow of fear and anguish.

She stands her ground. The look in his eyes tugs at her heartstrings. She pulls him toward the house. "Come with me."

Jo leads him up the porch steps and through the kitchen. She takes him down the hall and up the stairs. The house is quiet, but she pauses to glance down the hallway to make sure all the bedroom doors are closed. Pulling him into hers, she latches it behind them.

Slowly, her eyes finding his in the darkened room, she begins to unbutton the flannel shirt covering her tank top. When hers hits the floor, she reaches to push his off his shoulders. She trails a hand down his t-shirt covered chest before moving to the side of the bed and stripping off her jeans.

"Jo, I..." he falters, stumbling over the words.

Slipping under the covers, she pulls them back on the other side. "Shh.." she says, extending her hand to him. "Just come lay with me."

Dean moves to the edge of the bed. He stands there for a moment, pondering her offer and their whole situation. He's not sure what to do. How to feel. How to be with someone - anyone - with the pain he carries.

Sensing his uncertainty, Jo gets to her knees and moves in front of him. She tugs his shirt up and places a burst of tiny kisses across his chest. There's nothing sexual in her touch. It's meant to comfort and from the way he exhales, she knows she made the right call. She puts his hands on her waist before her own settle on his shoulders. "Let me be your lifeline."

Dean nods silently and sits on the mattress. Jo rubs his shoulders as he removes his boots. She feels him melt and lean into her hands. Reluctantly, he stands to remove his jeans.

Jo's eyes have adjusted to the dark. She sees the tremor in his hands as he removes the worn Levi's. Watches as he pulls them off and tosses them on the chair in the corner.

She settles into bed, holding the blankets up in invitation to him. And he comes to her. With a quiet shyness one would never expect from Dean Winchester, he crawls into her bed and settles onto his back.

Jo leans over him. She caresses his face and ruffles his hair lightly before plucking a his lips. "Relax," she says. "Is there anything you think'll help?"

Dean shakes his head. He pulls her into his and sighs when she snuggles against his chest. "Can I hold you?" he asks.

She's never heard him sounds so...broken. Nodding, she answers. "Whatever you need..."

It's quiet for a while. The sound of frogs and crickets drift through the open window in hushed serenade. He gulps. "Tell me something about you?"

"When I was seven, I had nightmares," she answers, stroking her fingers over his chest. "I had no idea what a hunter was or that there really could be monsters under the bed," she continues. "But I'd wake up screaming and run into Mom's room."

He feels the grin forming on her delicate features as his hand brushes up and down her arm from shoulder to elbow. It sort of makes him smile, too. The feel of the gesture is foreign. Feelings he hasn't felt years bubble to the surface unidentified. "What?"

"She used to hold me," Jo replies. "Kind of like you are right now."

Dean closes his eyes and tries to picture just that. Young Jo, her blonde hair in pigtails as she lay her head against Ellen's chest. He imagines mother and daughter curled together in a protective embrace, Ellen trailing her fingers over Jo's back.

He thinks of his own mother. Thinks of the times and ways Mary comforted him. With a tender hug or a song. With a story or stroking her fingers through his hair until he fell back asleep. The images are soothing, comforting.

Jo smiles again when his hand stops moving on her arm. She remains perfectly still as a snore escapes him. A quick look confirms he's fallen into the sandman's grip. Cuddling close, she closes her eyes and allows sleep to claim her as well.


Dean shifts restlessly. He's hot. So hot, he can almost feel the flames of an invisible fire licking against his skin. Sweat trickles down his brow and burns in his eyes. It coats his chest and arms in a fine mist. He whimpers.

In his mind's eye, Dean isn't in Jo Harvelle's bed. He doesn't have the pretty young hunter draped protectively around his body. He isn't sweating. He isn't alive.

He's back in Hell. And he's committing unspeakable acts of torture under the watchful eye of Alistair.

But it's not just any soul he's slicing to ribbons. It's hers. Jo's. And her screams nearly break him. He wants to stop. Wants to quit. Wants like hell to release her and take her punishment upon himself. With each cut he makes, part of him dies all over again. He's sick. Weak.

"No!" he cries out as he thrashes. "No! I..." He gasps, panting for air as he comes into partial consciousness.

Jo stirs. She touches him calmly. "Shh..." she hushes. "Shh... It's okay, Dean. I'm here. I've got you."

He clings to her. Rolling her beneath him, he kisses her. Deep. Hungry. Needy. The reaction startles her. Shakes her to her very core.

"Are you okay?" he mumbles, his hands searching her body for wounds. For injuries he knows he inflicted on her tender flesh. But he finds none. She's whole. Pale and perfect, she glows like a pearl in the light streaming through the window.

Jo accepts his kisses. Lets him touch her, his hands wandering over her body. "Shh..." she soothes, stroking his face as his mouth covers hers again. "I'm fine," she assures him. "I'm right here..."

He's relentless. He devours her. Greedily touching her skin and taking her mouth. Again and again.

It's too much. Too hard. Too rough. Filled with too much emotion. Too much pain.

It isn't right. She can't let this go on. She has to stop him. No matter how good it feels to be this close to him. To be beneath him again. He isn't completely awake. He doesn't know what he's doing.

She runs her hands up his back. "Easy there, tiger," she teases lightly. "Slow down..." She kisses him languidly, calmly. She nudges him back to his side of the bed and curls into his arms so he's spooning her.

Almost instantly, he relaxes. He begins to fall back into sleep, his last action pulling her fully against the hard wall of his chest.

His arms securely around her waist, Jo closes her eyes. She prays undisturbed sleep will find him. That he will get the rest he needs and that the nightmares will stay at bay until morning.

Laying there, in his arms, feels right. It feels good to the point of sinful...and she suddenly wonders if she made the right choice. When his grip on her tightens, there isn't any doubt.

She'd walk through the fires of Hell itself for the man behind her. And she'll do her damnedest to save him from the memories that haunt him.


Strawberries. Soft curves pressing into his body. He may have dreamt of Hell, but Dean wakes up in Heaven.

He opens his eyes slowly, blinking in the early morning sunlight. His lips trail along Jo's shoulder. He smiles against her neck as his fingers move against the warm, smooth skin of her abdomen. He can't remember the last time he slept like this with a woman. He's pretty sure the answer is never.

She damn near purrs and the sound sends an electric current straight through him. He feels alive. Aroused. He kisses her again, eager to hear more of the little noises. Eager to feel more like himself. Eager to tell her things he couldn't before.

Jo stirs. She stretches, pressing herself more tightly to Dean. "Mmm," she hums, squirming against his lap just enough to elicit a low growl. "Good morning to you, too," she teases, turning her head to the side and capturing his mouth.

Dean leans into the kiss. He laps at Jo's mouth, dipping his tongue in to taste her. She rocks wickedly back against him and he reaches to tangle a hand in the hair behind her ear to better angle her lips beneath his.

Time. Now he has time. Time to explore. Time to enjoy. Time to discover all the things he missed the last time.

He slows and looks at her. There's a reason he doesn't do this - doesn't wake up in bed with women. It's too intimate. It means something. He wants it to mean something this time. Hopes it means something this time.

"You're beautiful," he tells her, stroking his thumb over her cheek.. And it's true. She is. With her damp, kiss swollen lips and dark, desire filled eyes, she's stunning.

Jo blushes, sure she's a hot mess. Her eyes drop and she tries to come up with a smart mouthed retort but fails miserably as his hand palms her breast beneath her top, his thumb strumming over her nipple.

The sheet slips low around his hip and he feels the warmth of the sun coming through the window against his back. He grins at her as she rolls onto her back and into his embrace. The cozy blankets and softness of Jo's skin awaken and renew him.

He groans unable to resist the pull of her saucy little mouth and presses his lips to hers. He teases her; teeth nipping lightly, tongue darting out to soothe. He nudges her camisole up, pushing it until the edge rests just beneath the swell of her breasts. "Jo," he breathes, his voice a low rumble that makes her arch beneath him. "I want you..."

"Dean, I..." she begins. "When you left I..." She fumbles. She's not sure what to say. Not sure what to do or what any of this means. "When you left I thought I'd never see you again..."

He kisses her. Deeply. Soundly. He searches for the answers. For the right words as he molds her to him. "Whatdoya say, Jo?" he breathes, his hands slipping over her hips as his mouth glides against her neck. "You and me?"

Jo gasps, her hands climbing the wall of Dean's chest. He kisses her temple, her eye lids. He dusts his lips over her cheeks and the tip of her nose. He shifts against her, delighting in the moan that escapes her parted lips just before he presses his own over them.

She tastes like sunshine and fresh air. Like everything he pulled himself toward when he dug his way out. She's warm and soft. Delicate curves yield to the firm, muscular planes of his body. She's salvation. When he opens his eyes to look into hers, he sees the one thing that enabled him to hold out as long as he did. The thing that makes him kick himself now for not holding out longer. The love shining from her big, brown eyes.

His heart pounds in his chest as he collects her wrists and brings them over her head. He inches her top up, exposing her breasts to his view, and drags it from her body as his mouth latches hotly around a puckered nipple.

Jo bites her lip, her back arching from the bed as her hands tangle into his hair. "Uh, Dean?" she whimpers softly, struggling intently to keep from moaning.

Dean hums against her skin in answer, his big, soft hands moving wickedly against her aroused skin. His mouth finds it's next target and he mixes tiny, nibbling bites with lashes of his tongue. He feels her holding back. Feels her body's response. Feels need building in both of them.

"Aaahhh," she sighs. Swallowing hard, she murmurs, "Sam's right next door..."

"I'm not sharing you with my brother," he growls possessively, moving under the covers to trail wet kisses down her torso to her navel. Stopping, he dips his tongue into the little pocket and is rewarded with a sharp gasp.

"And Bobby," she pants. "Bobby's across the hall..."

Hooking his thumbs in her panties, he pulls them off with little protest. He removes his boxers, shoving them to the bottom of the bed with his feet before his lips find the inside of her knee. He kisses his way to his spot - that little freckle that would only be seen in a swimsuit or a moment like this - and he strokes over it reverently.

Surging upward, he smirks as their bodies align and his nose brushes against hers. His breath fans across her lips and she leans up to kiss him, but not before he whispers, "Guess you'll have to be quiet..."

Jo's eyes dance as she gives Dean a wicked grin. Pulling her hand from beneath the pillowcase, she scratches the edge of a little foil packet over his shoulder. "And you'll be needing this."

Dean's mouth crushes hers and he revels in the sensation of her mouth - her body - beneath his. He wants to savor it. To pull every ounce of pleasure he can from her. To block out memories of pain with bliss. To heal the screams of agony tearing at his soul with her murmurs of satisfaction.

There's a part of him that's afraid. A part that wonders if he's still got it. If like the scars that once marred him, other things have changed, too. He hesitates above her, his eyes swimming with emotion as he looks down at her.

Jo bites her lip and leans into Dean's palm as he caresses her face. She sees him freeze and watches the bravado evaporate from his face. Her fingers run tenderly over his back and she squirms against him.

"Dean..." she whimpers, pulling him down to her mouth. The look he gives her nearly shatters her heart. "We'll go slow," she coaxes, taking the packet from him. "Nothing has to happen."

He flops on his back beside her, his arm draping across his face. "I swear to God if you say it's like riding a bicycle..."

She sighs and rolls to face him, her fingers drifting down over his chest. They swirl lower and lower fanning out over his hip. "You know, princess," she teases lightly. "If one of us has reason to be insecure, it's me."

His brow arches. "How you figure?"

Jo wets her lips, her pink tongue darting playfully as his eyes follow its sweep. "Well," she begins, her fingers curling around his length and sliding upwards. A ragged breath escapes him. "The way I see it, taking your resurrected virginity is a lot of responsibility." Her eyes melt him with their sparkle. "You might go falling in love with me or somethin'."

Dean growls and presses her into the mattress. He holds her assaulting hand over her head and captures her other wrist. His mouth burns like a shot of top shelf whiskey when it comes in contact with hers, his tongue lashing her naughty little mouth into submission.

"What if it's too late?" he asks her, his gaze greener than spring grass. "What if I already have?"

Her mouth goes dry. She's pinned, vulnerable, beneath him. There's no escape. No way out though she feels the need to give him one. To keep it from getting messy. "Don't go getting all chick-flick soft on me, Dean-O," she pants. "We both know I'm not that kind of girl. You don't need to say pretty things to..."

"Dammit, Jo," he grits, grinding his hips into hers. His heart is in his eyes. It's in his voice. Though it's already been implied, the next thing that crosses his lips surprises them both. "I love you."

Her eyes are owl wide and her lower lip quivers. "Dean... I... You..."

He silences her with a steady kiss. It's soft, slow and wet. It sends a shock of white hot heat rocketing through him, warming his entire being and bandaging his wounded soul. "Please," he begs, his mouth slipping down to her ear as his hands wander her ribcage. "Please, Jo. Let me love you."

She shudders, shaking in his arms as she nuzzles his mouth back to hers. Her fingers tremble as she twines them into his hair. "Show me?" she breathes against his mouth, her body tingling in anticipation.

Dean combs his fingers into her honey blonde hair, marveling at the way the strands slip silkily through his fingers. He breathes shallowly, afraid her supple curves will dissolve like sugar in hot coffee beneath him. Afraid this is a mirage.

Because there's nothing soft about Hell. Nothing warm or inviting. It's scorching heat and pain. Losing her again would be painful. He couldn't survive it. Wouldn't want to. He feels the burn. Feels the flames licking at him as Alistair slices him to pieces.

Only it's not the fires of Hell that swallow him. It's Jo's mouth that laps at his skin. It's the gentle scrape of her finger nails, the nip of her teeth, not Alistair's blade that consumes him. It's Jo. It's all Jo. She's making him feel again. Reminding him he's alive. That there are pleasant kinds of heat.

His hand slips down her hip and skims over her thigh. Smooth against smooth. His touch is gentle, tentative even. It's a whisper of a caress. When her hands skate over his shoulders, his mouth seeks the perky, rose colored crown of her nipple and he sucks on it sharply.

"It's not nice to tease..." she husks.

He grins, remembering the way she sashayed around the Roadhouse unknowingly tormenting him with her hips. He chuckles thinking of the way she bent over the tables hustling pool. His fingers find their way to her soaked core. He teases her the way she teased him, with fluid movements and practiced ease.

She wiggles, eager to get closer to his touch. She wants everything he has to give her. Wants to feel the raw power and magnetic pull of him. Wants everything he's holding back.

This time it isn't that he's afraid. It's not that he's worried about tomorrow or what will happen down the line. It's not that he feels rushed. It's that he wants her. Wants to explore her. Wants to learn her body and push her places she's never been. Places she needs him to get to. It's that - for the first time in his life - he feels something other than lust. Something worth fighting for and believing in. Something he knows he could hold for the rest of his life and never get enough.

He fills her with his fingers. Inching slowly in and back. Stroking the spot he found the their first time - the time he thought was their last - he covers her mouth with his. He meets her tongue and suckles it into his mouth.

Jo's fingers itch. She flexes them against his neck. Slides them down over his back. Squeezes his firm rear end. Catching him off guard, she snakes one hand around his rigid length.

"Oh, God," he hisses.

It's her turn to grin against his mouth. Remembering the very first words she heard him utter, she laughs softly. "I'm pretty sure that's not a rifle..."

Dean's determined not to let her break him. "Naw," he says huskily. "I'm just real happy to see you." With his free hand, he retrieves the condom. Moving to her ear, he licks at the shell before growling, "Make yourself useful."

Jo smirks, but the expression is short lived when he pumps her, sending a ripple of pleasure that arcs her back and makes her moan. Her fingers race to make him ready - make them ready - for an event she knows will curl her toes.

"Hurry..." she pleads.

But he sinks into her slowly. His movements are measured even as she tightens around him. "No." His voice is deep and rich. It scratches and scrapes, adding to the tension and friction that build between them. He cups her face, kissing and caressing as he watches her eyes darken.

She hitches her leg around his waist, desperate to get him deeper. She shifts her pelvis, trying to change the angle. She wants him to lose control. Wants him to lose himself in her - with her.

He stays with his pace. Sticks his ground. He wants to make her crazy. Wants her to feel everything she makes him feel. Wants to show her how she kept him from losing it sooner in the pit.

"Why?" she asks innocently, tightening her leg around him.

The softness of her inner thigh on his hip is maddening. He almost breaks. Almost caves in and gives her exactly what she wants. She doesn't understand what he's doing. It's written all over her face. Not that he could explain it to her. He's not entirely sure what he's doing either.

He only knows one thing for sure. He needs to feel her. Needs to feel the tight, wet heat of her body as it swallows his. Needs for this to be different. For it to last and last and last.

Jo's desire for him is intoxicating. It makes him feel special. Like he's worth something. That he's...loved. It's in the clamp of intimate and not so intimate muscles that flex around him. It's in the cradle of her hips and the way she slips her fingers into his hair. It's the flash of color in her eyes that deepens and swirls with every stroke.

Her fingers curl into the sheet beneath her before flying up to grip his back. They slide in the fine sheen of sweat coating his skin and dig into his hips. Urging him on with a series of whimpers and tiny moans, she stares up at him.

Breathing heavy, she realizes it's never been like this. Not for her. Not with anyone. There'd always been a measure of liquor and urgency. Never such intense passion and tenderness. Certainly never early morning sunlight.

"Dean," she cries softly, her eyes rolling back and slamming shut as the sensations wash over her in a heady rush. She surrenders. Giving up and giving in to his touch and allowing him to guide her - to push her - further and further.

He shifts himself beneath her, riding high and plunging deeply. She falls against his chest, damp curls brushing against his skin.

"I..." she murmurs breathlessly. "Dean... I can't... Too much..."

He laces their fingers, their hands riding on her thighs as she sits up. If he only knows one thing, it's that too much of Jo Harvelle would never be enough to sate his longing for her.

He shifts beneath her, feeling her body quake and sway. His heart swells when he looks at her - sees what he does to her. Sitting up, he wraps his arm around her and brushes her hair back from her face as he brings her mouth down to his.

She feels the moan that rumbles inside of him. Feels the liquid fire pooling in her belly. Feels his fingers slip down between them. Feels everything fade to black as she shatters in his arms.

The old bed creaks. The headboard slamming against the wall as he falls back, taking Jo with him. He'd swear he sees stars. He feels their bodies pulsing together as they lay still, both struggling to breathe.

"So," she mumbles, her head resting against his chest. She stares at their entwined fingers and bites her lip. "You and me?"

"Yeah..." he murmurs, stroking her hair and kissing her temple. "Us..."


A/N: I have one more idea for this series - Fight Like Hell. Thoughts? Reviews = Love.