Things had built and built.

Little moments, like when he'd comforted me after the shooting, in the back of an ambulance, or when he had drawn a drop of blood while retrieving a shard of glass from my finger. They hadn't spoken volumes at the time, but they had made an impression. Then, his latent jealousy over Jake and his admission after my rescue; that did send up red flags. We were friends for so long that if you didn't spare it a second glance, no one would think it meant anything. But it did. To me, it started the wheels a turnin'. And soon I noticed all those spare glances and touches he gave me that no one else ever got, not even Natalia. And his smile. It seemed extra wide when it fell on me. I pushed it aside though, because I'm practically a PhD in denial. And I had to deny that my coworker and partner of six years was now something more... affecting. Didn't I.

I picked up my hair brush fifteen minutes ago, and I've been stroking my hair far longer than necessary. I want to put it down, but the repeated action of pacing the thing up and down is helping my thoughts flow. Helping me purge my final conclusion.

Finally, everything spiralled out of control after that day, after reading his report, a solid declaration of his feelings. Part of me rejoiced in it. While another part, the overly analytical one that drove my career to great heights, was alarmed. Scared out of my wits might be a better saying.

It needed thought now. Now that his intentions were completely obvious, I had to figure out what my feelings were, because he deserves it. He deserves an answer. I've never been great with self reflection, but I had to force myself to pull up my own file, the one kept locked up in my mind, and reevalute where Eric Delko stood. I've been distant these past few weeks because it's a big file. And I'm horrible at making a black and white decision when it's my own life. Until today.

My hand faltered and I hear the hairbrush clatter on the floor, but I won't pick it up. I can't even think of anything but him right now. I almost lost him today, again. God, again. Always just getting by, just surviving. We've both been shot, kidnapped, both been so close to losing each other all this time. Now this new deadly incident, the crane nearly crushing us both, my hand grasping him the only thing that kept us both intact. I guess I shouldn't be so surprised, with what we do. We both lost Tim, all those years ago, in the blink of an eye. I don't think I could recover if I lost Eric too.

This was my first thought when I arrived home an hour ago. And I let only one tear get through my defenses. If I lost Eric, I would die. I can't imagine living, not with him gone. If I'm honest, all this is new. New, in that my walls have been so sturdy and even I've been left in the dark on my own emotions. But the truth has been slowly seeping through since he got out of the hospital. It was so long ago, but like I said, its been building. For me too.

I thought at first it was a fleeting feeling. Hormones and loneliness and being around him all day, everyday, watching his back while he recovered, all making me look at him differently. Logical, inevitable attraction. Nothing real, nothing like love, just a crush.

I should have known it wasn't.

I'm too old for crushes.

I hoped against hope, when he said he wasn't alright, said he didn't know what he'd do if something happened to me, I prayed he meant like Speed. Like a best friend. Because if he meant it the other way, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from breaking down crying and kissing him and spilling my secret; that I think I'm in love with my best friend.