Devotion

Author: Andréa

Summary: After the events that occurred with her husband, Alice Bowman has enough time to ponder about the stressing months she spent without him and how Terry managed to sooth all that away and how he touched her in some way like no one had ever done –and somehow along the way she changes her mind on what is right for her to do.

Rating: PG-13 to R.

Category: Romance, angst, drama.

Disclaimer: Though I don't really know who owns them, sure as Hell I'm not the one who does.

Author's note: I SO loved this movie! First I thought it was a stupid war- kind boring movie and I only watched because I really love Meg Ryan and Russell Crowe (yummy) and turned out to be one of the best movies ever. But it got me really, really sad about the ending; I totally didn't like it... I wanted them to be together.

Also, please, you gotta know that English isn't my native language so forgive the mistakes in this fic –grammar and such. I write with the dictionary open for any doubts and such but it doesn't help all the time.

Read and be kind enough to leave your review, please.

She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm in the bud, feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought, and with a green and yellow melancholy she sat, like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. Was this not love indeed?"-Shakespeare

Chapter 1 – Spider-webs.

He was such a fool.

How could he, Terry Thorne the man always in control over his emotions, who had gone through the most difficult and painful situations, who had learned that other's pain wasn't his problem as long as he was doing his job, had fallen in love for someone else's wife? His hirer. How could he... He had fallen so much for her to the point of helping to get her husband back to her just to make her happy again –for free- even if it meant his miserableness.

There was no other way, though; he couldn't 'not' fall in love with her. The moment he laid his eyes on her –the single sight of her- it took his breath away. The beauty printed over her face, the glow of her golden hair under the sun, how her deep azure eyes seemed to stare at him deep down into his soul, how they hypnotized him, fascinated him –how much they lit up as she asked, no, begged for his help- how her skin seemed so gentle to the touch, so soft, delicate... her lips -the little things took his breath away.

He could remember with such a vivacity how her lips felt against his, so soft, wet, gentle, heavenly... how they seemed to fit so perfectly right together. How she trembled even so softly under his touch as he ran his hands up her arms and gently cupped her face, softly tucking short tresses behind her ear.

He wanted so greatly to believe she was shivering from his touch and not from confusion or surprise or even the adrenaline of the moment. Or was she? He couldn't tell, but whichever was the real answer to that he'd rather not know if it meant to only make him the more saddened. The only memory he wanted to hold of her was how perfect she felt in his arms.

Not the look sorrow she gave him just before walking away.

Not the look of gratefulness she held in her eyes.

Or the indecision when she wanted to talk to him and he only sent her away, not able to handle any form of excuse or rejection from her of what had happened.

It was from the stress, he was sure she'd say and actually hearing the words would hurt him even more deeply than only thinking them.

It wasn't from the stress, he'd say back and they'd find themselves under an awkward moment just to he be left behind by her excuse of needing to get back to the car.

No... He had done that for her.

He didn't want to listen to her.

And now he'd never get the chance to do that.

Bear it and keep going on with his life –Ted had said.

Bear it and keep going.

Stupid devotion for someone he didn't even know...

She took a small sip from the mug in her hands, the hot, black liquid Heavenly falling down her throat, warming her body from the point of contact to all the rest. It gave her a pleasant sensation, one she hadn't felt in a long time.

A light kiss to her forehead gently brought her back to the reality, forgetting about her coffee for a couple of seconds. She looked up, away from the black liquid twirling in the mug in her hands, to face the oldened face of her husband as he sat next to her.

He was so different from a couple of months ago. Back then his face seemed one of an ancient, old and tired and worn out -he looked so much worn out. The double size of his feet, the bloody look of it, hurt and injured and dolorous, it only increased his already awful appearance -three months without shaving and much probably without any showering. She was very surprised that he hadn't gotten any kind of disease.

To her complete surprise he was actually as healthy as he could ever be.

He was back and safe and they were home, all that thankfully to Terry.

God... Terry... She hadn't even had the chance to say thank you correctly. He hadn't given her the chance –a chance even to talk, to sort things out.

Now, she'd never get the chance.

She looked up again, casting her husband a wary glance, than brought her eyes back to her mug. "How are you feeling?" She asked in a so obvious tentative of trying to start some conversation that Peter sighed heavily at it.

"The right question is, how are –you- feeling?"

"Why would that be the right question?" She shifted, put the mug down on the coffee table and looked intensely at him.

"Alice..." He groaned, bringing his hands up to run his fingers through his now short hair.

"God..." She breathed out the drawn word, sighing now. "Don't start that again..." She whispered, hoping he'd feel pity of her and let go of the issue, but from the look that was already in his eyes she knew it wasn't something he'd let go.

It had been so long that they weren't in good terms, even before the kidnapping. They had fought a lot and he had even told her to go, to leave him, to go back to what she called 'home'. She thought that with the kidnapping, the forceful situation of stress and adrenaline and all the fear they had been put in, they'd finally be able to work things out, since the situation was like a probation, that's what she wanted to believe, but now, over two months after the aforementioned situation they still weren't able to do just what she wanted to do.

Being around him was hard to handle, as it reminding her of everything that had happened.

Every time he kissed her she remembered that so soft, loving kiss Terry gave her just before getting into the helicopter. Every time he held her, hugged her, she remembered how Terry had softly soothed as she cried, crouched along that wall in the kitchen away from other's ears. Every time she even glanced at her husband she saw a glimpse of those beautiful eyes she had gotten used to during the three months she spent with Terry.

She didn't want that to happen, she hadn't asked for that. But every single damn thing reminded her of those awful months she spent down in Colombia and the only sweet memory she had of that time was the time she spent next to that handsome kidnap negotiator.

And that only made her want to go back to him, even thought she constantly told herself not to think of him.

And she couldn't get herself to say I love you anymore.

"Start what? To try and save our marriage?" He asked in a rather harsh tone that got both of them surprised. Alice shook her head, sighed and looked down. "I'm sorry, but I just want to keep you by my side."

"And I want to be." She said with a tone that implied everything but that she truly wanted that, it was so obvious she was only trying to make him believe that that it made him angry sometimes.

"But there's something holding you back. Something that happened and you won't tell me."

"Peter... You know it's not that... Our relationship was almost in an end even before the kidnapping. You're fairly aware of how much we fought, we argued, we bickered –oh, or maybe you do not recall the words you said to me?"

"Alice... I'm not saying you're the one to blame –not the only one, anyway, but I'm trying here, ok? But it seems to me you're not trying at all, you don't even want this marriage to go on anymore. I said it before and I'm saying again: something happened –which you're not telling me- that's holding you up, that doesn't allow you to work through things."

She stared up at him, words failed; nothing came up, not good enough to say. He was right, he was completely right, but she just couldn't tell him that his savior kissed her and made her feel like she had never felt before and that maybe –just maybe- she may felt something for him, something that kept her back to the memories of when they were together.

She bit her lip and took her eyes from his inquisitive face, getting up in one fluid motion and sighing she said, "I'm going to bed." She turned to go without waiting for an answer and left the living room to lock herself in the safety of her bedroom –because that was what she always did. Every time he came up with that conversation she always found an excuse and left, she ran. She couldn't stand that talk -that look in his face, just couldn't face him enough to tell him what happened.

How could she tell him she found herself between the duty –obligation- of helping her husband, saving him, bring him back and trying to keep herself from feeling exactly what she was feeling? She couldn't just very well tell him how hard she tried to stay faithful but somewhere along the way her priorities, her point of view, changed and she was leaning on Terry to keep her sane –he- was leaning on her. And the feelings when he was around were very powerful, only being decreased by the preoccupation of finding her husband alive.

There were so many details that while in the moment she didn't notice but came to realize later, when having nothing to do, she put a lot of thought on this. She could never forget how he comforted her when she cried, how tenderly he touched her face just before kissing her, how he stared at her when he thought she wasn't looking, with such longing in his eyes that made her go weak on the knees –or even how unconsciously he gently touched her now and then.

It was so pure, so innocent, so different from any other relationship she had ever been in –and they weren't even in a relationship. He had truck a cord on her like no one had ever done before.

Dear God... She shouldn't be thinking of him, shouldn't be analyzing anything. She was with her husband again and she should be happy with him, she should at least try.

But why wasn't she motivated to try?

Dumb, she knew. The answer was simple and easy and it was right in front of her face...

Terry Thorne.

Her night hadn't been different of the others, not a single part of it had changed a bit. It was the same: the fight, the headache, the sleepless sleep, the turns and tosses until she could find a comfortable position, the silence when Peter came to bed and she pretended she was sleeping, the several inches of cold bed and the invisible wall that separated them –the dreams.

No, the dream, though always about the same person, changed each night. Yesterday she had dreamed of them running among the crowd when a bomb exploded, but today she had dreamed of warm hands holding her body close, keeping her with him almost as if knowing she'd have to go by morning and tomorrow it could be... it could be anything.

This night, though, this night it had been different –the dream. This night it wasn't about secret encounters, or feelings of guilty after stolen kisses –no, this night it as about two naked bodies in a bed, candles lit up everywhere and a soft melody playing somewhere outside the bedroom, causing a beautiful muffled sound reach her ears along with soft moans and whispered words of love.

And then, she woke up still so melted into the dream that she could still feel her body shaking, could still feel the burning sensation through all her body, and it felt so unbelievable real that she still could feel on her body the warm hands that had mapped her skin only a minute before or even the moist kisses planted on her face and chest. She could almost feel the warm breath whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

She, ever so slowly opened her eyes to the cruel reality that waited her with wide arms and big scary eyes. As her eyes met the true world she was living in she immediately wished she was still dreaming –her surroundings were nothing like she had saw a couple of seconds before. No more candles around, their light gently caressing the windows and walls and circling her face, no more soft melody, no more warm hands...

Alice sighed softly, lifted her head to look around and again sighed from how far Peter was sleeping –there was at least ten inches of distance between them. For a long time now the bed seemed big and cold and not as comfy and welcoming as it had been once. Now there was this invisible wall keeping her and Peter on their respective sides. What was so normal, an involuntary move as to turn to each other ands hold each other during the night now seemed to be someone else's thing to do, now they'd only turn to the other side and sleep as if no one else was also on the bed.

Kicking the sheets very carefully as not to wake up Peter, Alice silently slid out of bed and padded barefoot on the cold floor out of the bedroom. She was sure she wouldn't get any more sleep for the moment so heading out to get some fresh air was the best she could do –for now, stay lying in the same bed her husband was after the dream she had would only make her all the guiltier, not to mention beyond ashamed and complete uncomfortable. Having such thoughts about a man other than the one she was married with was nothing to be proud of.

God, she was in such a mess, that she was...

But it was such a handsome, gorgeous mess.

For Heaven's sake –whispered that inner voice- stop thinking about him.

I can't, she told her inner voice back, I can't...

Running her fingers through her short messy hair, Alice headed to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the first bottle of alcohol she found –which happened to be an old Jack Daniel's and soon was outside her house, the cold night air hitting her face and brushing her hair softly, as she let silent tears fall slowly down her face.

What a fucking life... she thought bitterly, even knowing she was the only one making it be as it was.

If only she had the guts...

Ted stared at him for a while, watching as he paced around, looking through things as if searching for something in particular that wasn't kept in the most obvious place, which he should look in first. And as he finally stopped and sat down on the couch, across from him, with a bottle of alcohol –so familiar now- in his hand and a glass in the other.

Ted wondered what would happen if he just thought what was on his mind, just tried to get him to open his eyes. "I'm worried about you, Terry." He said instead of all the other words.

Terry tore his eyes from the yellowish liquid in his glass and focused them on Ted. "Worried about me?" He asked in a tone that Ted couldn't say if he was feeling real disbelief or was only trying to trick Ted. "You shouldn't be."

"It's been two months now and you're still reacting over Mrs. Bowman."

At the formal name of Alice's, Terry snapped his head up, as though her name was some kind of war warning, which he should be very aware of. "I don't know what you're talking about..."

"Terry..." Ted groaned, running a nervous hand through his auburn hair. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. I told you it wouldn't happen as you expected."

"I didn't expect anything. Look, I knew exactly how things would end and if it had been different I'd not have let it happen. It's over now."

Ted stared at his long time friend for a full moment, the same way he'd stare at a war plan to study it, until he finally tired and sighed deeply, looking away. He knew his friend was only saying that to assure him, for deep down he still had hopes that one day Alice Bowman –the woman that stole his heart- would come back, that he'd see her someday and even though he was trying very hard to forget her he just couldn't, his actions showed it.

"It'll be one day." He whispered in a light tone, understanding of the fact that Terry was trying to get on with his life –even though in the wrong way- for as hard as it was to simply get over the woman he loved.

"Yeah." Terry whispered as he reached one hand up to bring the glass of alcohol to his lips.

"But trying to drown your sorrows in a glass of alcohol is not going to help, pal." Ted scolded, reaching his own hand up and taking the glass from Terry. "Let's try to get one day without it, shall we?"

Terry narrowed his eyes at him, glaring as hard as he could and let out an alcohol-smelled breath. "Whatever." He mumbled in his weak British accent. Then he got up harshly and headed to the door "I'm going out for a walk." He said grabbing his jacket and stepping out the door, closing it soundly after him.