His Hands
By Athena13: 2010
A/N: Trying to wake up the muse after a long hibernation. Tell it like it is, please!
Dear Disney:I know I Don't own 'em, I'm just making them a bit better.
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His hands.
She could look at him anywhere and feel for him as a former lover who was now, once again, just a friend. But something about his hands made her heart skip a beat.
There was just something about his hands.
He wasn't an artist. Those hands more often than he would have wished held an instrument of death in their grip. They were hands that weren't afraid of hard work – or pain. It wasn't uncommon to see them banged and bloodied.
Oftentimes in aid of her.
Then there was the bandage. On that hand. The same hand. Damage caused by his actions to protect her. Her, tough Natalie Balsam with the heart of stone and skin of iron. It was unprecedented. He saw her strength and weakness in equal measure.
He wasn't the only. But he was the first.
Breathless. When they touched her, that's how she felt. Hot, sturdy, supportive.
She shouldn't feel like this. Want this. Need this. Jared was. And part of her couldn't help but think that now he wasn't. And those hands, they were. Still.
Her eyes darted away. Up. To his eyes. Open eyes. Like they had never been before. Honest. Longing. She couldn't. He couldn't. It was a betrayal. For both of them.
Like when they first met.
Down. It was easier to look at his hands.
Fin
