A/N: Two more scenes we should have seen. Immediately post "Skip". This can be read in conjunction with "A Calculated Risk", but stands on its own.

Oh, God. OhGodohGodohGod.

Iris gazed into the mirror. Bloodshot eyes gazed back. 2 am, more or less, and she hadn't got to sleep yet. Wasn't likely to either. Oh, God.

I always swore blind this would never happen to me. Despised others who allowed it to happen. Unprofessional, unethical. Seriously creepy, actually. Exploitative. Taking advantage of a person in a vulnerable emotional state. For my own gratification.

Though actually he looked pretty gratified too.

Not quite sure who broke that clinch, it seemed to go on for a pretty long time. Or maybe it just seemed like forever.

Feeling of big fingers stroking her cheek, an absurd sensation of safety with this dangerous, violent, hurting man.

And I want more. God help me, I want it again.

She ran hot water, washed her face and towelled it off. 2:10. Maybe I'll call in sick tomorrow. But she wanted to see him again. Even just from a distance would do, to see that erect figure in his dark suit, the purposeful stride, the intensity of concentration as he stared at a computer screen out in the bullpen. Just when had simply looking at him become such a pleasure? A guilty pleasure. You've got to stop this.

Damn it. Secrets and lies, that's all the future holds for us right now.

Us? What 'us'? There's a shrink and a former patient. No 'us'. No.

She rubbed her right wrist where he'd caught it to pull her towards him. She could still feel his fingers there; he might as well have branded her with a hot iron.

And that look in his eyes when she'd told him she was passing him on to another therapist. She'd seen that look before. Sometimes, she'd seen it in the mirror.

Loneliness is a dull pain. Most of the time we don't even notice it. We tell ourselves not to be ridiculous, you've got no reason to be unhappy. We gather meaning from our work, from shared goals, from the camaraderie of those alongside us. We march in step.

Why shouldn't I find my meaning reflected in another's eyes?

She looked into the mirror for another long moment before turning the light out and stumbling back to bed.

Xxxxx

He hadn't taken a bottle of bourbon to bed since coming back from Colorado. Maybe this was the beginning of the end. Finally losing my edge. Lost my nerve.

Since when did one kiss knock him into a tailspin like this?

Since you went all teenager on your therapist, is when.

Really, that moment when he'd run into her in the bullpen. Tongue-tied, like he was scraping up the courage to ask her to the prom. And then heard she was going with someone else.

He took another slug of the bourbon, relishing the burn as it made its way down his gullet.

Let's be brutally honest, John. You have a crush on your therapist. You let her kiss you. Then you kissed her back. At best, she loses her job. At worst, some very bad people figure the situation out and come for her in the middle of the night. You have to stop this.

But she smells nice. He looked at the bottle, squinting slightly. She what?

She smells nice. She's soft, and warm, and her skin feels good under my fingers.

And when she looks at me she's not scared.

The bottle was getting down to halfway. At this rate I might have to call in sick tomorrow. That'll go down well with Lionel.

What would Iris think? That I was changing my mind?

Would she feel hurt?

For some reason he felt a twinge of pain, right in the center of his chest, at that thought. More bourbon. He raised the bottle again.