I refuse to believe that Shane and Steve's relationship was all bad, and I think Impossible Dream pretty much confirmed that. Here's my take on what McInerney/Marek might have been like pre-transfer, and how Steve finally came to send that birthday card. Enjoy!

Shane picked the spare door key from underneath a nearby flower pot and carefully unlocked the door. He really needed a new place to hide his spare key. She would mention it later-right now she wanted dinner, and he was making it for her.

As the door opened, a thick aroma of herbs and spices filled her nose, and while she hadn't remembered him ever making it before, she recognized the scents to be Indian food of some kind. It certainly wasn't what she expected, but if it was good and she could eat it, at this point it didn't matter.

"Shane? Is that you?" A voice called from the kitchen.

Shane kicked her heels off and hooked her bag on his coat rack before responding to his inquiry via her entry to the kitchen.

He loved to see her come gingerly around that corner. He only wished the circumstances under which it occurred were different, at least tonight. Nonetheless, he greeted her as normal.

"There she is," Steve announced with a smile, throwing a tea towel over his shoulder.

There were few things more attractive to Shane than a man in the kitchen, particularly in one as well equipped as Steve's, stainless steel appliances, a large island and a beautiful patio and dining area only feet away. And, of course, there was Steve, still dressed for the office in the green plaid shirt she had gotten him for his birthday, and a pair of khaki dress pants that fit him absolutely perfectly, preparing their meal.

"You know, in your line of work, you think you'd hide your spare key in a more creative way," she teased, leaning against the island opposite her chef for the evening. He briefly glanced up to catch her gaze before returning his attention to the burner, which he switched off.

"Which reminds me, you should move yours from under that loose piece of wood near the base of your front door-too obvious" he replied, spooning a small bite of his culinary creation out of the pan and holding it at eye level. "Come here, I need you to try this."

Shane stood there for a second, her jaw cocked in that way it did when she was caught red-handed and didn't want to admit it. She knew Steve enjoyed nothing more than calling her out on these silly and trivial things-the enjoyment went both ways. It was how they communicated.

Shane brought her attention back to the request at hand. The dish certainly smelled good-the taste surely had to follow. Shane obliged, rounding the island and taking the spoon from Steve's hand to try it.

"It's Chicken Tikka Masala," Steve explained as she squinted, as if making her final assessment before rendering a verdict. He adored when she did that.

"So spicy," she choked, handing him the spoon back, reaching into the dish dryer for a glass she could fill with chilled water from the fridge.

"I spent a little bit of time abroad in India when I was in college," Steve began apologetically, "Guess my tolerance is still a little high."

"Are you sure it was college?" Shane asked, taking another cleansing drink of water, her eyes briefly darting down to the glass before training on his like a laser.

Steve laughed halfheartedly, "It could have been."

She was testing him in that frustrating, maddening, but somehow irresistibly tempting way that made him want to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her into a kiss. It was a constant challenge for him to withhold information from her. Steve wanted so badly to read her in. Yet even as she tested the boundaries, she respected the constraints of being involved with someone like him. And it was for that contradictory reason alone he wanted to tell Shane everything.

Steve was exactly the kind of puzzle Shane liked to put together. He was handsome, educated, had a sense of humor she couldn't quite place her finger on, was charming to a degree she didn't think possible for a human being. Then again, it was likely that superpower that made him so good at his job-the one he couldn't talk much about. He had confided in her the duplicitous nature of his position with the United States Postal Service. He was an intelligence analyst, USPS was his cover, and that often meant being privy to things one couldn't discuss around the water cooler. On occasion it resulted in him being whisked away to undisclosed locations for unknown lengths of time to test his analyses. She deeply respected Steve for telling her the truth about at least that much. There must have been some risked involved-for both of them. And he took that extremely seriously.

"You want to have this conversation again?" Steve sighed, removing the tea towel from his shoulder and tucking it into the oven handle before making his way towards Shane, whom he strategically pinned in the corner between the sink and refrigerator. He rested his palms firmly on either counter, ensuring she couldn't escape.

Steve was patient with her. Shane was a strong woman, and he knew that. He also knew that being unreachable and absent was a less than ideal situation for the relationship he wanted to have with Shane. She already endured the days here and there where he seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet, only to reappear at her desk at work with flowers and a lunch or dinner invitation. This, he knew, would be much longer than that.

Suddenly the hunger that only seconds ago had ravaged Shane's stomach was replaced by a deep, persistent and, dare she admit it, familiar, feeling of hollowness.

"You've done this before," Shane declared, setting the clear water glass down on the counter just beyond where he had her pinned.

He was leaving. Again. And it was this strange dinner that gave it away. He tried to feed her Mediterranean last time he went away for an undisclosed amount of time to a location he couldn't reveal. Shane got it in her head that, because the meal was so unlike what they normally went for, he was trying to hint at where his travels were taking him. But when confronted directly, he denied it, even to her, who knew everything.

She wanted to be upset, deep down she was. But she recognized the deep sense of duty he felt to his country and to his work. It was those very things that made him so attractive. At the same time, she battled a nagging frustration with something about their relationship, about his absence, that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Its weight pressed greatest in these moments when she knew Steve was leaving her.

"How long?" She asked, crossing her arms and fixating her attention on her newly manicured toe nails as she waited for him to reply. He remained silent.

"Overseas?" She pressed, and he instinctively knew she was referencing the meal currently cooling on the stove. She was smart, and it was his message in a bottle to her. Steve remained stoic, but she was breaking his heart. Shane was forcing his hand in record time. As her eyes darted away, he wondered if this might be the final straw.

"Shane, look at me," he begged softly, tucking some of her hair behind her left ear, "I want to look into those beautiful eyes of yours for as long as I can, even if they are upset with me."

It was little things like this which Shane found herself frustratingly powerless to ignore. Steve could be terribly sweet and romantic, even when the situation was anything but. She looked up at him, something about his blue eyes and that half smile made him darn near irresistible-and he could tell.

Steve slipped an arm around Shane's waist and slowly eliminated what little distance remained between them, a kiss the only thing strong enough to express what he felt for her at that exact moment. And while she seemed hesitant at first to reciprocate, she slowly warmed up to it.

This was the exact thing she couldn't quite figure out about her relationship with Steve. The moment Steve kissed her, nothing else mattered. He completely erased any consternation or questions or anything, by simply pulling her into a kiss. She felt everything and nothing. And yet the simple fact remained that the minute he pulled away all the questions would come flooding back, culminating in the question that, in between the witty banter and the occasional serious conversation, repeated itself like a broken record:

What am I to you?

The echo of the question rang hollow in her head. And while she typically found herself completely capable of eloquent self-expression, this was one question she simply could not find it within herself give life to by speaking it aloud. Was she afraid of the answer?

A wave of panic enveloped her as he pulled away, she could hear Becky in her head:

"What has gotten into you? This Steve guy has you wrapped around his strong and extremely handsome finger…"

And it might have been funny if it hadn't been Becky who said it. Her opinion of Steve had been high in the beginning, but waned as his absences became more frequent, and while she knew Becky had only her best interests at heart, she couldn't help but feel judged or pitied. But Becky was too much of a friend to tell her to her face-most of the time.

Steve had pulled away just enough to be piercing through her blue eyes with his own. He looked as though he wanted to say something more-something important. Shane could see the decision being made his eyes as the moment slipped away.

"Come on, let's eat. Dinner's getting cold and I've got your favorite wine chilling in the fridge," he said, almost as if nothing had happened and no bombs had been dropped.

As Steve began to set the table, Shane found herself frozen in that kitchen corner unable to move as the question echoed once more:

What am I to you?

On to Chapter 2!