A/N: Fine. *grumbles to self about having to write a shoddy fic that she shouldn't have the time to write because no one else wrote for them* Guys, I'm beyond rusty. Hell, I wasn't spectacular to begin with…and it's rushed. As in, I wrote this on my break between classes kind of rushed. But reviews are welcome.

Disclaimer: Not my babies. Not my show. Not my problem. Unbetaed.

~~O~~

The keys fumbled in her hand. She stilled herself, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. A month and a half after returning home and she still felt anxious every time she so much as glanced at the apartment across the hall. The key finally slid into the final lock and she rushed in. The door closing behind her never seemed to be enough. She pressed her back up against it, her eyes darting across the dark room, while her breathing evened out and her heart stopped racing.

She flicked on the lights and loosened the collar of her off white trench coat. Reminding herself that it wasn't the collar restricting her breathing.

She'd be okay.

She'd be fine.

The room finally stopped spinning and she went to work with the locks. Three deadbolts. One slide, even a padlock. She developed a new system, rotating which ones she'd lock, but never locking them all at the same time. At least not anymore. She figured. ..She figured it could buy her more time in case...just in case. If someone planned on getting in again, she'd at least make it a challenge. She checked the locks, twice, thrice, four times seemed to be her safety number.

The pattern began. Safety check texts from Huck and Quinn. Short and distant phone calls with Abby and Jake. She ignored the ones from Fitz. A long shower with the bathroom door bolted shut. Popcorn for dinner. A cup of tea. She'd lock herself in her bedroom, climb into bed with her knees tucked under her chin. She'd hug herself tightly and wait for sleep to come.

When it wouldn't, she would call him.

She remembered how it started but she wasn't sure how it continued. Maybe after all those years, they simply fell back into their old and familiar habit. Dangerous as it was. It was only for emergencies, he told her at the helipad. But he'd do better with keeping in touch. But on rough nights and early grey mornings, muscle memory had her fingers gliding across the keypad without her even being aware of it. It was just supposed to be once. She just needed to hear his voice again. That Scottish brogue that was like a caress when he breathed "Livvie" into the mouthpiece. She promised him she wouldn't call again unless it was important, but he never stopped answering her calls, and on some nights he made them himself.

She'd hold the phone to her ear, and he'd talk about anything. He would explain bits and pieces of his life that wasn't classified. She'd try to guess where he might be in the world. He would tell her about Georgia and why it didn't work out, or he would confide in her how many times he wanted to call her just to hear her voice. He confessed that he kept with all of them. He apologized for falling out of touch. Sometimes she would talk too. Other times he'd remain silent. She'd just listen to the sound of his breathing and he hers. He never asked her why she called him. He never asked her to explain herself. She suspected that he knew though. He would stay on the phone for however long it took for her to fall asleep. She'd wake up on some mornings with the phone still clenched in her fist.

She sat in the middle of her bed. Rocking herself gently, coaching herself through breathing, stubborn tears in her eyes. She hadn't heard from him in four days. She rationalized that he probably went off grid, but it still hurt. It ripped through her chest, reopening the old wound never fully healed from when he abandoned her the last time. When he left her to fend for herself. She cursed herself for falling right back into that pattern where she allowed herself to need him.

He was her best friend.

The void he left in her life was palpable and not a day went by where she wasn't thankful to Huck...and even Harrison, for trying their best to fill it for her. They never tried to take Stephen's place but they certainly tried to help her not miss him so much. She appreciated Jake, because in so many ways he filled that void too. But the truth was, reuniting with Stephen, her friend, the man who saved her when all her other loved ones couldn't, reminded her that when he left he took her home with him. She loved Fitz, and Jake too, and her friends, her gladiators, were her family but Stephen was like coming home, because it certainly wasn't that place she found herself in anymore and she was pretty sure it never was. A crack of thunder made her jump. She hugged herself tighter as she practiced her breathing, tears falling down her cheeks, and remembered a time when true solace was found in her best friend's arms.

She glared at the infamous Fitz phone as it vibrated for the umpteenth time before swiping it off the coffee table, her fingers hovering over the screen. It vibrated again and she was just beginning to cave when she heard a knock.

"Thank god," she muttered to herself. "It's open!" She fluttered around the kitchen nook, opening cabinets until she found the proper wine glasses. Preferably the ones the size of Texas.

"What in bloody hell is wrong with you?! How many times have I told you about leaving your door unlocked?" Stephen practically growled.

He locked the door behind him just as she snatched the bottle of wine out of his hand and headed towards the couch.

"You're welcome," he grumbled sarcastically as he removed his coat. "Why do I let you use me all the time?"

"Because I'm you're only friend and you love me" She responded flippantly as she struggled to open the bottle. If she had known it would take so long for her to drown her sorrows, she'd have gone and stocked up on wine herself. And with better quality at that.

"Oh don't you dare pull that look, Liv," Stephen grabbed the bottle from her and pulled the cork out with ease. "Lest I remind you, you interrupted my night with this demand and I stopped at the nearest store on my way here. A simple 'thanks' would suffice."

"I'm sorry if you and Georgia were having a romantic evening and I ruined it." She took a sip of wine and sank into the couch sighing contently. She hated to admit it, but it was damn good for the cheap stuff.

"No..." Stephen hesitated, his eyes flickering to her licking her lips, before meeting her eyes and smirking. He knew she wasn't nearly as big of a wine snob as she pretended to be.

"No, Georgia and I aren't...we weren't together tonight."

"Stephen if I interrupted a night of shameless debauchery and sluttiness, then I take back my apology. Georgia is a good girl. She doesn't deserve that."

"Hey now, first off, you never once uttered anything remotely close to an apology. I'm pretty sure in all the time I've known you, you've never apologized," he ignored her indignant scoff as he refilled her glass. "I was not out whoring around..." She cast him a dubious look. "Tonight," he amended. "Georgia and I are done."

"Again?" She inquired not the least bit surprised. Stephen and Georgia always found themselves back with one another.

"For good. Georgia is a good girl, and she deserves better." He polished off his drink. "I'm not a good guy."

"You're the best guy," her eyes bore into the side of his face until he met her gaze. "Maybe, not now, or maybe not for her...but you're the best guy." She reached out and cupped the side of his cheek. The stubble scratching against her palm made her smile. It reminded her of when she first took him in, and he'd go days without shaving, because it didn't remind him of who he was before.

He leaned into her touch and squeezed her hand. "It's your job to say that because you're my only friend."

"And I love you." She added with a smack to his face. It never ceased to confound her that she couldn't seriously tell anyone else that she loved them but she could jokingly say it to him.

The look he gave her was a curious one. The intensity of his heated gaze was too much, it made her squirm. She could see the exact moment when he realized the effect he was having on her. There was a spark of incredulity and wonder. There was surprise, amusement, and hope. Her lips parted of their own volition, and she was left wondering what would come out, when he relinquished her of his gaze, taking with him the rare moment of seeing past all of his defenses.

"So, love, I know you didn't demand I bring my devilishly handsome arse over here, just so we could talk about my former lass..."he prompted with a smirk. He sat back, his head resting on the back of the couch.

She let out a breathy, nervous laugh, thankful to be released from his hypnotic gaze and the simmering tension between them that she was determined to blame on the alcohol. "Lass?"

"What can I say? Late night drinking makes me think of the Motherland." He quipped, his accent more pronounced than ever.

"Do you miss it?" She asked quietly. "Scotland? Home?"

"Some days you carry home with you. Other days you find home in another. I don't believe home is a place. It's a state of being." He turned away from her, patting her leg until she settled both of them on his lap. He began slowly kneading at the skin above her ankles much to her surprise.

"You're philosophical when you drink," she laughed at his disgruntled snort. "You're a poet and a romantic..."

"I am not! I'm a bloody bastard, that's what I am." He said with indignation, ignoring Olivia's laughter.

"You're that too."

A comfortable silence fell over them, and she closed her eyes. The combination of the wine and his hands massaging her was beginning to make her drowsy.

"Scotland is my place of origin. It's not my home." He said quietly.

"What is?" She asked as she lazily stared up at him.

She would have assumed he didn't hear her at all, but his hands tensed on her knee and he stopped abruptly. He stared off into the distance for a long moment before bringing dark haunted eyes towards her.

"Enough deflecting, Liv," he picked up his previous ministrations, his calloused hands kneading at her soft skin. "What did he do?" He jerked his head in the direction of the Fitz phone.

"I don't want to talk about it." She heard her voice crack so she looked away.

"Oh Livvie," he sighed. Suddenly he was gripping her face and turning it until she met his eyes. "He doesn't deserve you, love."

She snorted. "I'm a mistress, Stephen. I'm the whore."

"You are not-"

"Oh what do you know? You're a whore too."

He let out a hearty laugh, that came from his gut and she giggled like she hadn't been crying two hours before.

"We're so pathetic." She managed through her laughter.

"We're just two people with a bad habit of wanting what we can't have. Just because we know damn well we'd fuck it all up if we actually got it. So we take what we can."

His tone was so serious it caught her off guard. "What is it that you want but can't have Stephen?"

This time when his grip on her knee felt tighter, she met his eyes. He was no longer guarded and it terrified her. The unspoken "you" hung heavy in the air, but neither of them spoke. His hands continued their ascent, as his fingers grazed and gripped her knees, her thighs, higher, until her breath hitched as blunt nails scraped across the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

"We're a fucked up pair indeed, love," his voice was throaty and gruff, and his gaze was heated. The slight smirk told her that he knew he was having an effect on her, but there was something else behind his eyes. Resignation and fear.

"Why-" she started breathlessly as he absentmindedly drew circles along her upper thigh, edging the bottom of her silk pajama shorts up in the process.

"Livvie," his voice was strained and held a warning. His eyes shone with defeat. "It's fine. We take what we can. We settle for what we have. We value what is and nothing more…" His voice trailed off as he became entranced with the softness of her skin.

"Stephen-" she shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and ignore the fact that his hands, her best friend's very touch was driving her wild. Her best friend's hands were driving her wild…and she was…she was okay with that at the moment.

"What if I want more? With you. Right now. Just for tonight?" She cupped the sides of his face, the stubble scratched her palms and she was so close to him she could feel his breath fanning against her face.

"Oh Livvie," he sighed. He brushed a strand of hair away from her glossy eyes, before cradling the side of her face. The strokes against her cheeks were in tandem with the strokes along her thigh.

"I...I want to feel good," she said firmly, leaning into his touch. "I just... I want to feel something..."

"You're not that woman, Olivia" He traced her eyelids with his thumb and smiled down at her.

"You do it all the time." She contested, her eyebrow raised in determination, palms still firmly cupping his face.

"Not to you, love" he whispered, he brushed his lips across her hairline, before resting his forehead against hers. "You're not being fair."

The words were a reminder of what she was asking of him. He'd never pursue her. He never envisioned having her as anything other than his close friend. He admitted as much. He was okay with that because he didn't deserve her either, and he never could figure out how to handle good things in his life. She wasn't being fair to him. She realized as she started to pull away.

He wouldn't let her.

The playful smirk and the heated, predatorial gaze was the only warning he gave her that his resolve was gone. His tongue plunged into her mouth the same time his finger plunged into her folds. She gasped into his mouth in surprise and moaned when he added another finger. She wasn't even sure when he got her shorts off, or his shirt for that matter because suddenly his hot skin was pressed against hers as they fell backwards on the couch. His eyes never left her hooded ones as he worked her over until she was on the very edge before slowing down. He was amused, clearly, at her responses, proud of himself too, the arrogant bastard that he was, but he looked at her with respect, and love, and reverence, and just when it was becoming too much he leaned in for another searing kiss.

"Stephen!" She was so breathless she barely recognized her own voice.

His voice was muffled as he pressed kisses along her skin, heading further and further down until her body reflexively squirmed. "Shh, love. Just let me make you feel better... us feel better."

Her hands were buried deep in his thick hair until his magical tongue left her boneless and incapable of finding purchase in his locks. Before she could compose herself he had his large hands beneath her ass and she was whisked away to the comfort of her bed.

She didn't realize he could be so passionate. Every stroke, nip, and kiss made her delirious. Whispers and growls against her skin were unintelligible to her as his accent thickened. The most she ever caught was her name, which was quickly drowned out with her moaning his with every thrust until their release left them a pile of sweaty and tangled limbs.

"Will we ever be normal?" She whispered against his chest, hoarse and thoroughly sated.

"Normal is overrated, Liv," he whispered back drowsily.

"Thank you," she mouthed. He tightened his grip around her, his breath hot against the shell of her ear, his face buried in her hair.

"Thank you," he muttered, causing her to shiver. "You feel like home."

The loud knock on the door caused her to hyperventilate. She quickly climbed from the bed, eyes wide in fear, and reached for the glock she kept beside the bed. She padded towards the door slowly, her heartrate increasing with each step she took. She peeked out of the peephole, and let out a startled cry.

"Livvie! Liv, it's me," Stephen's voice was muffled behind the door, alarm evident; with every second she spent shocked at his presence at not unlatching any of the locks. "Are you alright? Liv?"

She quickly unlatched the door and wrenched it open, coming face to face with him, still gripping the gun tightly in her hand, her breathing still erratic.

"Hey, hey now love," he stepped inside, and shut and locked the door, never once turning away from her. He slowly moved towards her with both hands up, so as not to startle her. When he seemed sure that she was alert, he carefully extricated the gun out of her hand.

Before he could so much as utter a word, she fell into his arms, her face pressed against his chest, as tears she had been unaware of slid down her cheeks and bled into his shirt. He smelled like musk and the desert.

"Shhh, hey now love, breathe with me," he said softly. His breath was hot against her skin, as he pressed her tightly against him, his chin resting on the top of her head.

She didn't know how long they spent holding each other, but eventually her breathing and heart rate slowed to a normal rate, and her body was relaxed.

He pulled back from her, just far enough to cup her face with his hands. He studied her intently, and she let him, never breaking eye contact. "Rough night, eh?"

"It never goes away," he said softly as he brushed hair out of her eyes. "But it does get better, gets a little easier with time."

She nodded. "What are you doing here?"

He paused for a long moment. "I have business in D.C. before I head to Africa." He responded smoothly. If she hadn't known him so well, she would have been convinced. "I thought I'd pop in for a visit, mostly a place to crash. Long flight and all, I'm knackered."

"Stephen-"she started. She was not a charity case. She was not someone who needed to be pitied or coddled. She was broken, sure, but she was not broken beyond repair. It was that moment that made her regret calling him so often. Needing him. She regretted that she needed him or anyone else for that matter. Needing people was dangerous, because no one stuck around forever.

"Olivia," there was a warning in his tone. No-nonsense he saw past her bullshit, and he wasn't going to take no for an answer. "I'm not going to apologize for wanting to check in with you. Just like you don't have to apologize for the 12 missed phone calls.

She inhaled sharply. She hadn't even realized she called him that much. She turned her head away and sniffed, willing herself not to start crying again. His hands gripped her chin and gently tugged, until she was forced to look at him.

"How about we get some sleep, yeah?" he pressed his forehead against hers until she finally gave in and nodded. She took his hand and guided him to the room. She stopped in front of the bed, ready to argue with him, despite her exhaustion, but he jerked his head in the direction of the bed and began kicking off his shoes.

"That's it," he said softly, as she slid beneath the comforter and moved to one side of the bed.

She turned her back to him, but she could hear him tossing his leather jacket on the chair, followed by the unzipping of his pants. Seconds later, she felt the dip in the bed, and suddenly the heat of his body enveloped her. His strong arms wrapped around her waist, large hands splayed across her waist as he leaned back into the bed and pulled her towards him until her entire body was molded against his.

"Breathe with me," he mumbled softly, his lips ghosting across her neck. She copied him. "There you go…" he breathed. "There you go… Good yes?"

Her eyes fluttered close and she felt herself drifting off. "Yes…" she sighed, as she burrowed into him further. Amongst the many things she chose to lock away, never to revisit in fear of what she would be compelled to face head on, the sense of security she felt in the arms of her best friend, most certainly rose to the surface. "Feels like home…" she sighed, before everything finally went black.

~~O~~