Disclaimer: Medical Investigation is the property of NBC, Jason Howrich and the show's writers. I claim no ownership, as this is a work of pure entertainment value.

A/N: It seems to be my curse to fall for defunct shows. Special thanks to Zaedah for all her encouragement and help with the nuances of the Stephen/Natalie connection. This picks up directly after the episode "The Black Book" – because it was so deliciously left open for further rambling interpretation. Enjoy!

Silence in the Storm

"A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, And greatly falling with a falling state." – Alexander Pope

There were times when Natalie Durant cursed the architect of the NIH. Times when she wished for a respite from the aquarium-like feeling of being encased in glass; doors and walls transparent to passersby who might chance a look inside, but rarely truly saw anything. She guessed it was meant to make the place feel open, airy and inviting despite the crushing weight of the work they dealt with, but mostly it made Natalie feel exposed. Even with the blinds pulled down.

There were times when she wished she had a real office. Unlike her teammates, Natalie had a desk in her lab, close to her revered computers, her research and test tubes full of empirical data, backed up by the unshakable auspices of scientific fact. True – the lab was where she felt most at ease; her natural habitat, safe in the knowledge that mass-spectrometers didn't have families to answer to or plays they'd never perform in. Microscopes expected nothing from her. No codes of old friendships that went beyond medical ethics, no shoulder to cry on when all seemed hopeless. Just a careful eye and a patient hand. But, Lord knows there were times Natalie would have given her kingdom of sterile swabs for a solid wooden door.

At least then, she wouldn't have to endure three of her teammates repeatedly asking if she was alright, did she want to come out for a drink or when she was going home. Love them she might, but Natalie was dangerously close to putting a 'No Admittance' sign on the outside of her glass cage.

The predominate darkness of the building was lit up by yet another flash of lightning, this time brighter and much closer, and Nat braced herself for the resounding boom to follow. She felt herself counting inwardly: one Mississippi, two Mississippi – until the crack of thunder answered. The building shook along with the lone doctor, and she mentally added another reason to hate the glass walls in NIH. They trembled perilously and made a lot of noise during a violent storm. Test tubes and pipettes tinkled agitatedly throughout her lab.

Bent over her lab table, Nat tried in an ultimately futile attempt to finish her reports. She'd even pulled out reports that weren't due for weeks, just to have something to occupy her mind. But the events of the day replayed like a demonic infomercial in her head. The words blurred in front of her eyes, fading to reveal the news address she'd seen earlier with the rest of her team.

Watching the Congressman stand on a dais and spout rhetoric about family, about how he knew the importance of family values while holding onto his wife like a lifeline, Natalie wondered who was really clinging to whom. Donna's face was a mask of insecurities and shattered ideals, and yet she stood by her man. The injustice of it all nearly made Nat gag. She had to get away.

And even as she strode away, anger radiating off her like heat off a sun-baked sidewalk, she felt the cool pressure of eyes on her back. The same cool, piercing eyes she'd come to damn and adore in some paradoxical way; for in their unearthly color, she could lose her very soul and a part of her was frightened by that. She'd hoped he wouldn't follow, and he didn't disappoint. Her boss was a study in stoicism, but it didn't mean he didn't notice things. She often felt like those crystalline eyes of his caught every detail, every nuance, subtly cataloging them away for future reference. When he'd choose to act was another matter, and Nat knew she was on borrowed time before he'd seek her out.

In this instance, however, she thought she might take a page out of Stephen Connor's book of emotional signage and tack up a version of the 'Look But Don't Touch' note he seemed to have etched into his back.

The case had touched something in Nat that she thought was long since buried, a secret hurt the normally outgoing doctor didn't want unfolded like a sheet and fanned out for the world to see. Betrayal was a deep cut from which she hadn't quite healed, and Donna's husband had poured boric acid into the laceration. His infidelity ripped away the haphazard bindings she'd use to raggedly stitch the wound closed, with all the finesse of a butcher ripping out the seams on a botched operation. Nat found herself hoping he'd at least contracted a VD that would torment him, before chastising her vehement thoughts for Donna's sake.

As if agreeing with her current line of thought on what the Congressman really deserved, the thunder growled ominously outside her window, and Nat cringed. Thunderstorms had always unnerved her.

Footsteps, direct and military-like, heralded the arrival of the one man she didn't want to deal with that night. Hunching down on her stool, Nat hoped the faint glow of her lone lamp wouldn't cast a signal of her whereabouts into the hallways. Damn that architect and his stupid glass walls.

She heard the door to her lab open, the soft clink of the blinds she'd closed for privacy echoing in her ears. Resting her forehead in her hand, Nat continued to stare at the file in front of her, hoping the 'No Admittance' sign was flashing garishly in red neon above her head.

"Hey." His voice was soft and tired; a tone that always touched something deep in Nat.

How could she refuse to look at him with such an invitation in that tone? Still clinging to idea that she was better left alone that night, she cautiously glanced up at her intruder, knowing that prolonged eye contact – with those eyes – would rip away all her defenses.

She swept over his countenance with that single glance, her heart taking a moment to bemoan the fact that he was still wearing the beautiful suit she'd seen him in earlier, and she had to physically force her gaze back to her table. Gone was the blue tie, the top few buttons of the white pin-stripped shirt open to reveal a teasing glimpse of his chest; the same chest that had plagued Nat's dreams wondering how solid and safe it would feel to curl up on its broad expanse. The blue jacket was also missing, telling her that he'd stopped off at his own office first, before discovering that he wasn't alone at the late hour.

The clouds roared outside, wind and rain pummeling the windowpanes, and his next question was almost lost in the tempest's fury.

"Nat?"

She hadn't answered him, she realized, upon his first greeting. Now she knew his trouble radar was going full force.

She sighed, not looking up. "Yeah?"

"Couldn't that wait till later? It's late."

Irony dripped from his suggestion and Nat smirked as she found his eyes for the first time. He seemed to realize the not-so-subtle incongruity and she saw the corners of his mouth pull into the half-smile that always made her stomach do flip-flops. There was something gentle about it, as though the hard lines of his face softened and his eyes sparkled, and it was all something she alone was privilege enough to witness.

"Pot-kettle-black, Stephen." She raised a brow at the way he nodded toward the ground, acknowledging her accusation. As if it was a totally different beast for him to stay at work all night. As if it was alright for him alone, somehow…

He moved toward her, and Nat felt her heart rate speed up. He was testing her barriers, giving her wall a good once-over to find its vulnerabilities. Ever the military tactician. If she was lucky he'd give up like he usually did, choosing to take the safe route out of emotional entanglements from which he'd rather hide. "If you want to talk, you know where to find me…" he'd said.

If it were only that easy.

"Okay. I'm usually the one who pulls the all-nighters. What's your excuse?" He pulled out a stool opposite her and rested his elbows on the lab table.

Natalie silently damned the fact she didn't have a proper office. A proper office desk wouldn't allow him to get so close; the scant distance of the lab table offering little defense.

She looked up to him again, seeing the worry behind the fatigue shading his eyes a degree warmer than normal. "Just finishing up on some things," she said. "I think I'm allowed to pull a few late nights here and there."

She'd meant to keep the barb out of her words, but obviously failed by the set of his jaw. To punctuate the point, Mother Nature loosed another volley of lightning and Nat flinched hard under the quaking thunder that followed. Stephen noticed her reaction and his brows furrowed.

"Hey, you okay?"

Damn him. Those words offered in the gentle tone she rarely heard, save for the few times he actually sought to comfort her or when he was comforting a patient, never failed to melt her heart. Chewing her lip, Nat fingered her pen to avoid looking at him. There'd be no easy way out tonight.

"Fine, Stephen." She looked out the windows, watching the rain sluice down the glass. "Never better."

She heard him sigh through his nose, the first sign of frustration. "Yeah. You look it," he stated doubtfully.

Nat looked over at him. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up, exposed his thick forearms. Her eyes traveled downward to his hands – symbols of strength and capability. She'd seen him work miracles with those hands. Secretly, she wondered if they were rough and calloused, and if they could be as gentle in touch as they could be brutal in a fight. She'd seen him break jaws with those fists.

Bringing her thoughts away from his impressive anatomy (before thoughts of his biceps completely robbed her of coherency) she flipped a strand of hair from her face.

"I take it your court date didn't go well." Deflecting wasn't Nat's strong suit. That title belonged to the man staring at her. So, the discomfort that swirled his features into something that resembled his usual mask made her feel dirty. She was used to trying to ease his pain… to draw him out…not intentionally toss spears at his already rent psyche.

He sat back, rubbing a hand over his face. Nat caught the hurt that flashed across his eyes like the lightning outside, and she hated herself for it. "Wasn't supposed to. Setting the ground rules for a divorce isn't supposed to be a cake walk, so I'm told."

Steel had entered Stephen's tone and Nat wondered if the metaphorical push she'd attempted had actually been more of a slap. Here he was, actually offering himself for her benefit, for a change, and she brought up the most painful thing in his life at the moment and waves it like a red flag in front of a bull. Nice.

She wilted a little with that realization. "I'm sorry Stephen. I didn't mean to-"

"Forget it," Stephen waved her off with one hand, closing his eyes and rubbing his brow absently. Yet another sign of frustration.

They sat for a moment, neither chancing conversation while the walls and instruments vibrated with the growing storm outside. Stephen rose to pace the room, while Nat surreptitiously watched him. He'd crossed his arms, a movement that seemed to make the breadth of his chest increase, especially when viewed from the back. Natalie couldn't help but marvel at the image he cut: standing at the window, arms crossed over his chest; the blackness outside lighting in flashes that silhouetted him in a blue glow, turning his platinum hair white.

She shivered. Stephen's attractiveness could be downright intimidating at times.

"You should have left before the storm set in," he murmured, nearly startling Natalie with his quietness. "It's pretty bad out there."

He turned back to her, and in the dim light, his eyes held an ethereal glow to them. He was worried about her, but didn't know how to get her to open up. Military and scientific tactics rarely work on the human condition.

She half-heartedly shrugged. "Not like there's a lot waiting for me at home." The admission burned and to cover it she said, "I'll stick it out here." She fidgeted with her papers as the tension built within her. She had no one to go home to because he betrayed her, shattered her trust and made her feel like she wasn't worth waiting for.

Stephen was waiting for her though, and if she wasn't careful, the tension would make her explode. The storm picked up strength outside.

Stephen sighed again, this time with a shake of the head. "Nat, c'mon. What's-"

His question was cut off by a blinding flash that lit up the whole wing. Immediately following it was a concussion blast that shook everything in sight. Natalie couldn't help but yelp in distress, jumping nearly out of her chair and curling in on herself for protection. She needn't have bothered.

Just as the lights in the hall and her lamp flickered and died with the rolling cacophony of the thunder, two large, muscular arms wrapped around her, pulling her to the safety of his chest. Natalie froze, stunned. Stephen, moved by her frightened sound and the blast that probably reminded him of war-time memories he'd rather forget, did the only thing she knew was ingrained in his being to do. He sought to protect her.

Hands rubbed up and down her back in a soothing gesture that stilled her trembles. The stress of the case and her emerging demons must have had more effect on her than she realized. She hadn't reacted this way to thunderstorms since she was a kid, and Stephen's strong hands rubbing her arms, the soothing words he murmured, would normally have sent her senses into overdrive.

"Whoa," He said after a moment. Carefully Nat pulled her head away from the coveted spot in the middle of his chest to look around. The whole lab was plunged into darkness, except from the blue-grey light from the emergency lights that filtered in from the halls and in the windows from the parking lot. "That must have hit a transformer. Back-up generator should be kicking on."

Many things in Heaven and Earth obey Stephen Connor's will, Nat surmised, just as a few lights flicked on in the hall. Even back-up generators that could have been fried by lightning. He stepped away to look down at her, and Nat felt a blush creeping up her neck.

"You okay?" He asked.

Nat nodded and pulled away from his warmth. Oh, how she could have gotten used to that spot, right in the middle of that solid chest. "Yeah. I guess it's been a long day and my nerves are kind of shot."

She was about to turn back to her lab table when she felt Stephen's hand touch her elbow. "This case with your friend. It got to you." It wasn't a question.

Nat chanced a look to his face, and saw that his eyes had changed color again. She knew this shade of blue was reserved for her: for encouraging her when she felt doubt nipping at her heels and melting her defenses. He'd used it on her before, when he'd found her at Belleview hospital, wallowing in the past and he asked her with his eyes to tell him what was wrong. He was asking her again – but there was a subtle note behind the plea, saying that if she wasn't ready, he wouldn't push.

That was the difference between the two. He respected boundaries. She had a tendency to circumvent them.

Natalie nodded minutely. "If ever there was a case of injustice…"

"At least we determined that the disease wasn't sexually transmitted." He leaned against the tabled and watched her. "At least his wife can rest easy that she didn't contract anything from him."

Heat flared to Natalie's cheeks and even in the dim room, Stephen caught the change. "Rest easy?" she hissed, stepping back. "What in the hell does she have to rest easy about, Stephen? Her marriage is over! He betrayed the most fundamental, intimate trust a man and wife have!"

Stephen had the grace to look contrite. "I know, but-"

"No. You don't know." She watched his eyes cloud with confusion for a moment. Then, ever the brilliant one at putting the threads together to see the whole picture, Nat saw the light dawning in his chiseled features.

Turning away from him, Nat hugged herself and walked to the window – as if daring the maelstrom outside to match the one raging within her soul.

"Your ex," He stated, his voice low and tinted with a mixture of sympathy and loathing. Nat was sure the loathing was aimed at her former husband, and part of her blessed Stephen for placing his formidable temper on her side.

She swallowed thickly. "Your marriage may have withered, but at least you didn't have to deal with that kind of betrayal. At least Lisa never cheated."

Nat felt more than heard him move up behind her, waiting.

She worried her bottom lip for a moment, allowing the memories to emerge from their rusted strong boxes in her mind. "I was so caught up in my work that I missed the signs. He used to complain in the beginning that I was never home, but then those complaints… just…stopped."

Stephen was so close that she could feel his heat permeating the back of her shirt. It seemed to soothe the taut muscles between her shoulder blades, and she knew it would only take a millimeter's worth of movement to lean back into him. Use his chest as a brace for her broken spirit.

"My fault, really," she sniffed. "It's what I get for trusting too openly. When I found out what he was doing while I was pulling late nights at the lab, I kicked him out."

The last part of her sentence broke with an unbidden sob, and Nat felt one of Stephen's arms slip around her shoulders. He moved to stand at her side, facing the window and the fury of the storm, as he tightened his grip on her. When she glanced at his face, he was staring out at the storm, but his eyes were so kind and patient she nearly broke down completely. He was allowing her to purge her pain; waiting and offering support. If she fell that night, Stephen would be there, holding on.

"It just hurts me to see someone as strong as Donna stay with a man who she can't trust, Stephen. It's bad enough being shown that you're not worth someone's devotion, but-"

Her voice halted as the tears began to flow, and that caused Stephen to turn to her.

"Nat," he whispered with soft admonishment, "you don't really think that, do you? That you're not worth it?"

She closed her eyes, but flinched when she felt Stephen's warm, calloused hand trace a feather-light path across the tracks of her tears. Nat opened her eyes to see him gazing down upon her, wiping her tear-stained cheeks with the gentlest care. Her musing about his hands was answered that night: Stephen Connor, known for his might in battle on the scarred grounds of disease and war alike, had a tender touch.

His smile was beautiful and sad. "This job takes almost as much as it rewards, doesn't it? But don't ever believe that whatever you give up to this job makes you worthless to others, Nat." He dipped his head to catch her eyes. "Understand?"

Nat watched Stephen struggle with crossing 'the line': the invisible barrier between professionalism and the something more that they skirted and danced upon routinely. His eyes skimmed her features and Nat found herself hoping he'd cross that line fully that night. But, she knew the look of regret that crossed his face finally. He wasn't ready. Not yet.

Swiping at her eyes, she nodded with a watery half-smile. Stephen was holding both her shoulders now, and she stared at his chest longingly.

"Since when did you become so introspective?" She asked, trying to lighten the air.

He smiled again, one that seemed to push the lead weight off her heart and allow it to expand. "Since I met you."

His smile broadened when she let out a breathy, self-conscious laugh. Softly she placed her hands on his chest, feeling the smoothness of his dress shirt beneath her fingers. Stephen's thumbs absently massaged her shoulders as he held on, seemingly as unwilling as she was to break the physical contact.

"Thanks, Stephen." She murmured, looking up after a moment.

In answer, Stephen did what she'd never expected him to do, especially not in the confines of the decidedly professional area of the lab. He stepped over the line with Connor-like precision and pulled Nat into him, wrapping his arms completely around her and holding tight.

Time stood still for Natalie. She was frozen for a moment, as if she were just imaging the contact that was so singularly different than the protective huddle they'd experienced minutes before. Turning her head against his chest, Nat breathed him in; his scent clean and utterly Stephen. She let her arms trace around his back to pull him even closer, and she felt his strong arms tighten in reciprocation.

It occurred to her, somewhere in the euphoria of being in Stephen's arms, that he was clinging to her just as much as she was to him. A shuddering breath came out of his chest as he dipped his head to rest against hers, thoroughly burying himself in the moment and the feeling. The case had taken its toll on him as well, though Nat figured the looming wreck of his personal life was more to blame for his need at that moment. Perhaps he needed to find confirmation that night as well; some affirmation that his sacrifices meant something to some one, that they hadn't been made in vain…that he was needed for more than just his vast medical knowledge. Perhaps Stephen Connor needed to know that he wasn't alone in his worry or his doubts.

And Natalie was only too glad to be that confirmation. Their roles that night hadn't actually been reversed, it was more of a partnership than she'd ever thought possible. They both had needed this more than they realized it seemed.

"Your ex was an idiot," Stephen murmured into her hair. His hands were rubbing lazy circles over her back as he held her to him so completely. His words rumbled through his chest into her being and Natalie smiled.

"I know," she chuckled into his shirt.

The storm grumbled feebly, fading into the distance. But the lab held a comforting silence – one in which the delicate mending of two souls could barely be heard.

FIN

My first atempt at Medical Investigation, so let me know what YOU think! Please Feed the Author's NEED and REVIEW! Special THANKS to betas Celia Stanton and Zaedah!