She isn't good at this part. The part where they confess their feelings, kiss, and ride off into the sunset. Yet, here she is, staring into his eyes as his fingers intertwine with hers. Her heart is beating too fast and her breathing is short and ragged. His other hand finds its way to her face and her breath catches.
"Temperance," he whispers, and the use of her first name jars her awake. This isn't right. They are partners, and you don't mix romance with the office. She steps back, his hand falls from her face, but he keeps a firm grasp on her hand.
"Stop," she says, meaning for it to come out strong, but instead it is soft and for a moment she doesn't think that she has said anything at all.
"No," he says and then he is kissing her. She is kissing him back, her hand working its way to his neck as he pulls her closer to him. She breaks the kiss a minute (or maybe two even four, maybe six, she really can't tell) later. They are silent for a moment and he is looking at her in a way that no man ever has before.
"I can't," she says and turns away from him. Somewhere between walking to her car and turning on the engine she has started to cry. As soon as she gets home she starts to pack (after all running away is in her blood). She's out the door an hour later and at the airport fifteen minutes after that. She hasn't been on a trip in a while and chooses England at random, flashing her credentials to get the ticket. She has an old professor who lives in England (she thinks, maybe it was Scotland or Turkey, she's not good at remembering details), who offered her a place to stay once. The attendant asks for her boarding pass and she hesitates for a moment, just a moment before giving it to her. She starts to cry again as the plane takes off, but really happily ever afters weren't meant for people like her.