A/N: Greetings, readers! It's been plain to me for the past year, to see that this particular series of five romance one-shots has attracted a great many views. Thank you all for reviewing, as well. And I believe you'll find that my second collection of five one-shots, titled 'Loving Hellboy', is every bit as romantic.

Tomboy Liz Sherman wasn't always the softest place to fall, but her practical temperament and hardiness suited Hellboy just fine. No woman of the type he would label as "glam", could ever appeal to him, or endure in his world. It was simply a fact he'd come to know. With long association, there was little of himself and his macabre origins that he needed to explain to her.

At his side, she had faced whatever enemy they'd encountered with steady acceptance – without disabling panic or alarm. She took it all like another day at the office in the extraordinary career to which she applied her unique abilities. Liz had made of herself, an indispensable asset to the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defence.

And she was indispensable to Hellboy. Her realization of deep feelings for him had arisen clearly in her head as well as her heart, when they each had gone beyond the duty of battling evil forces, for love of the other. What followed were the times when, behind closed doors, she would approach him with that look. It always gave him to remember how long he had fought within himself the desire to own that welcoming gleam, holding back in hope that she would one day give it surely and freely. Now for him – her sultry hooded gaze lingered on his lips, then lifted in a tender stare fringed by dark lashes, to captivate his golden eyes.

Hellboy remembered back to a long ago time of their first significant touch - or maybe it had been important only to him. Believing he knew what to expect from nineteen year old Liz as a working partner, he was startled to see her crumpled to her knees on the tarmac, sobbing as she tried to extinguish her flames. Third job together. The danger was past. What was wrong? She didn't look up when he knelt by her, but in the next instant, flung herself into his arms. Her fire dissipating, she held tight around his shoulders. She redoubled her grip, and for long minutes, hid her face against his throat, trembling. It was the sweetest thing he'd ever known to embrace her and sink down to the ground where she curled herself to take refuge on his lap. Hellboy wasn't any different than most men faced with comforting a crying woman. He rubbed her back and stroked her hair, hoping that calm would return soon.

"Let's go home," he whispered. "You just rest."

He'd walked slowly to the aircraft, bearing her in his arms, not wanting the contact to end.

. . .

Once back at home headquarters, their accustomed ease with each other inexplicably crashed, bewildering him. She stayed away entirely, not even taking his calls.

"Son, I can only surmise that Liz is sorting out her feelings," advised Prof. Bruttenholm. "Her outburst of need may have frightened her. She may be ashamed of a perceived weakness. I would tell you to be patient, and don't push."

While the demon was thankful of his father's theorizing efforts, it didn't change a thing. "I can't push, 'cause I can't see her," he muttered grimly.

Far worse, Liz had decided to leave the Bureau once more, disappearing overnight.

. . .

In the Prof's library, Hellboy next sought out his cerebral best confidant for whatever enlightenment Abe Sapien could shed on his emotional predicament. Signalling to save the merman the inconvenience of leaving his aquatic comforts, Hellboy went off to a nearby grouping of furniture and returned carrying a large armchair gripped only by the fingers of his stone hand. For no particular reason that Abe could divine, Hellboy hefted the weighty chair into an arc through the air before setting it down in front of the tank with artfully controlled strength.

"Red, I'm duly impressed," Abe said with relief, "but don't, please, do it again."

"Anything for you, Blue." Hellboy flopped into the chair, a picture of dejection.

Tentatively, Abe began, "I see your suffering. Is there anything I can do?"

Hellboy slowly shook his head. "I gotta stop living on that little taste."

"May I posit?"

Red leaned forward to listen.

"Liz grew up with you, and during her earlier years your association was a familiar, comfortable brother-sister relationship. Your feelings for her grew in another direction. I strongly suspect, the same is happening with Liz."

Hellboy's eyes first mutely questioned, but he needed to know. "Liz - the same?"

"I betray no reading, Red. I've observed the two of you, as might anyone. There is a psychological theory," Abe went on, "that youths of opposite genders, upon noting emerging sexual interest, must cease being playmates and become, in essence, strangers to each other. The males band together, as do the females, and the changing dynamic gradually leads individuals to gravitate to pairing off. To the parties, the process is quite unconscious."

His head bowed as he frowned over these concepts, he finally said, "Strangers, huh? I'd think we're too old to be called playmates. Maybe she's a youth, maybe I'm not."

He pondered in his room until he fell asleep. It didn't feel good. He hadn't wanted to become a stranger to Liz. Far from it. But did she care?

. . .

As the months passed without her, Hellboy pushed deeper into his routine of working out, adding ever more weight to lift, press and curl. He tried not to snark at agent Clay when that worthy friend dropped in one night to catch up over a few beers. Red found himself not in the mood to be amusing company.

"Man, you're sad," Clay observed, unthinking.

The demon lifted his lip. What kind of fun answer was he expected to give?

"But look at you!" Clay hastily switched.

"What?"

"Your waist is pulled way in. Your arms and shoulders are humungous. Your chest and back are thicker than I've ever seen. Your pants are slipping and your shirts are splitting, right?"

"Kind of."

"It looks like you've reached your limit of rip," appraised Clay. "I'm taking you to the tailor shop tomorrow, make sure everything fits."

"Yeah, okay."

"Now talk to me, dammit!"

Clay was like the other side of the intellectual Abe coin – a regular human guy and senior agent who'd earned Red's trust and respect over years of proven courage and loyalty.

"I.." Hellboy began, damning his vulnerability, "I want my Liz back. I want us to be together."

"Oh, yeah," he agreed. "You deserve that. I mean it. As much as you risk for the job, you should have someone to make you – happy." Clay censored the number one consideration from his conversation. No sex? Unthinkable. Just now, it seemed too obvious to say out loud. Clay searched his brain to bring back memories of how it felt to be in love. There was nothing he could actively do to bring about any difference. But he thoughtfully took a pull on his beer and said, "Red, I'll keep my eyes open and my mouth shut."

. . .

His next mission away came soon enough. To his way of thinking, Hellboy had found no particular difficulty in it, returning two days later bearing some ugly flesh wounds. The physician on duty had deemed it necessary to suture a couple of his injuries, and at the completion of his treatment, he was sporting yet another set of bandages over more future scars.

"I'm waiting for the warranty speech, Doc," Red smirked as he pulled on his shirt.

"No weight training until you're healed," the doctor warned predictably, as his patient was about to disappear out the door. Though Hellboy was a fast healer, he wondered how he would pass the time minus his addictive regime of working out. With no place within the Bureau that he especially wanted to be right then, his thoughts were diverted by his mobile, buzzing with an incoming call.

"Got good news!" announced Clay's voice. "Someone pretty is in the library with your Dad."

Red put away his phone, his heartbeat picking up speed. It would look pathetic to barge in there, or to wait around outside the doors until she came out. And what if that was enough to chase her off again? The professor had rushed straight to the medical wing when he'd heard that his son had returned and needed patching up. Now Liz? Thinking that she must have arrived minutes ago, Hellboy decided instead to return to his room. There, he removed the pressure of his shirt, and restless with suspense, he lay back on his bed among a number of his ever present pet cats. Staring up at the ceiling, he reached to pick up the nearest furry body, which was soon curled purring on his warm chest. He closed his eyes, his left hand idly stroking the cat.

"Hi."

He held his breath. The figure of Liz was indeed walking toward him, and softly creeping onto his bed to sit beside him.

"Hi," he returned, his throat dry.

She was studying him and the cat, her lips curved in a fleeting little smile. Then all unexpectedly, she lay down alongside him, placed her head on his shoulder and asked, "Hold me?"

It was no false dream, this time; and though he hadn't moved anything else toward her, his right arm obeyed by bringing her a little too firmly to his side.

"You!" Liz breathed. "You're harder than iron!" The touch of panic in her voice broke through his roiling thoughts, and he relaxed his hold immediately. But the words - they wouldn't line up for him in a way that made any sense.

Torturous long seconds passed before she spoke in a small voice, "I don't want to be alone, Red. Can I sleep here?"

"Anytime," he whispered, his emotions barely under control.

Just as they were, they rested together, her hand on him above the bandages. Whatever else he'd hoped she would say, this wasn't the time. And what he wanted her to know, would remain stored in his heart until the time was right.

"Don't believe there could ever be anyone else."