Hello readers! This is my first foray into the world of fanfiction, so I'd love it if you could take the time to tell me how I do :) Just hit that little button down there, write me a little something, and go about your day! It will be much appreciated!

Comfort and Peace to Those Who Struggle

"At least now he can't see what you've become." He bit out, his voice a piercing chill.

It's a low blow and he knows it, even before the words spill past his lips. He fights to keep his face and eyes emotionless as he watches the impact of what he's said wash over her usually so guarded face. The mere look of anguish is nearly enough to make him want to tell her that he wishes he could take what he's said back. But then, a small reminder inside his mind tells him of all that she's done to him within the past forty-eight hours, and he retains his anger.

Her brown eyes fill up with tears, and he loses his animosity towards her. He turns to leave before he says something he'll regret. His footsteps echo through the heavy silence as he walks down the wooden stairs into the night. His legs carry him to his car, and only when his hand is on the door handle does he turn to look back at her.

She's in a heap on her porch, her shoulders shaking with painful sobs. Her blonde locks obscure her tear soaked face from his view, and for that he's partially grateful; the look of misery that twisted her features would do nothing to tame the grief that blazes through his stomach.

He forces his hands to open the car door, the interior beeping quietly to alert the driver to the fact that the door has been opened. He shuts his eyes and sighs deeply, before shutting the door and turning away. He finds himself approaching her, walking the short distance from the dirt-road driveway to her white-washed porch.

Impulsively, he takes a seat next to her, plucking her from the ground and pulling her in close to his chest. He gives her a few moments to let it all out, allowing her to cry openly into his collared shirt-clad chest. Her salty tears run through the material of the garment, and sink into his skin. Wanting to offer nothing but amelioration, he runs his fingers up and down her spine soothingly. She grips his shirt like a life line, hands twisted in the fabric. She shudders against him, and the severity of the motion shakes both their bodies. She quiets after a few more minutes, and he brings her head to rest on his shoulder, threading his fingers through her hair comfortingly.

"Ems, I didn't mean what I said earlier." He said, his voice a soft whisper. "I'm so sorry."

She wipes her face off. "No, Nolan, I needed to hear it. Everything that's going on lately, it's spiraling out of control. My control. Revenge on the Grayson's is moving at an insanely fast pace, and it's becoming more chaotic every day. Maybe it's time I took a step back and start to rethink a few things."

He brings her chin up to look at him. "But that's what makes you so good, Em. You have the ability to move quickly from one sabotage to the next. That's how you stay ahead." He remarks, avoiding any thoughts about the softness of her skin against his hands.

She manages a dry laugh. "I'm getting caught up in all this." She admits. "It's too much."

She shivers against the cool night air of the Hamptons without it's glorious sun. He notices her chill, and moves to take off his dress jacket without a second thought. He drapes it around her shoulders, and pulls her into him once more.

She rests her head against his chest and listens to the beautiful rhythm of his heart beating inside his body. She's enjoying his comfort, in spite of herself, and feels a bit better knowing he is there with her.

She looks up at him, meeting his ocean blue gaze. Her eyes drop to his lips for a moment, but snap back up quickly. She plants a small kiss on his cheek, and moves to get up. Pushing her arms through his jacket, she takes a minute to see whether or not it smells like him. It does, a glorious combination of fabric softener, and some sort of men's cologne. She embeds the scent deep within her memory for safe keeping.

She opens the door to her beautiful cottage and leaves it slightly ajar as she steps inside. Once her foot's in the door, she looks back at him and says, "Would you like to come in? It's getting cold out there."

He dusts off his hands on his khaki slacks as he rises from the ground. "Is that an invitation?" He asks, regaining some of his usual flirtatious charm.

She arches a single eyebrow before turning her back and sauntering into her living space.

He chuckles. "I'll take that as a yes." He says, entering the house and shutting the door firmly behind him.

Much love to those who decided to take a look at this! Hope you all have a great rest of your week :)