Chapter 1

Habits

Everyone around her seems to exist on another plane. Familiar faces from a lifetime ago. That she knows as though they were known to her in a past life. If such things existed. And in some ways that's true...They don't know her. She doesn't know them. But they say each other's names like they do.

But it's not her. It's a different Kim that they knew. She's not the same person they expect. But close enough to let them try. Let them try and talk. Connect. Share their grief.

She wants none of it.

All around her people. Talking. Mourning. Dragging up ancient history that she told herself that she'd forgotten a long time ago. That she'd gone through hell to make herself forget a long time ago. Hearing it now meant she hadn't done enough. Meant she never could. Old memories buzzing around her ears like flies. Happy. Sad. Funny. Sombre. True. False. All unbearable.

She turns. Avoiding a tray of altogether too tempting alcohol that floats towards her. Ducks out of the way of yet another person claiming to know who she was before, to share in feelings she wasn't even sure she felt. To drown her in more common courtesy and empty words that filled her time and her head and clogged her memories and her patience and drained her.

She could feel a lump rising in her throat. If there were to be tears they would not be shed here, for their eyes, for their distraction and false comfort.

They would be between her and whatever dead men heard or knew or cared enough to notice, they were for them.

She sped up. She found a gap. She already knew the location of every exit. Habits. Old and new. Her feet carried her to the nearest one. She fumbled with the handle. Wrenched her arm instinctively from the light flutter of fingers at her elbow that she never gave the chance to be hostile or consoling.

Some excuse found its way to her lips. Some lie. That came too easily. She had spent too much of her life lying. Undercover, they called it. It meant freedom, now. It meant that she could slip away, unchallenged. From some stranger she didn't know. And never would. And it didn't matter, she thought. They were all too similar in the end. All human. All lying. But her lies let her flee. The irony was that what she called freedom was the cause of her being caged for so long...

Her lungs gratefully drunk in the clear, fresh air. The spoils of her escape filled her and calmed her. Alone out here to enjoy them. She let her eyes open once more. And found her vision blurred. A thin film of tears that did not quite belong to her covering her eyes. She brushed them away then glanced around her. More habits.

She was alone, still, to her relief.

Another old habit called to her, as it hadn't done in a while. A faint smile covered her lips as her fingers curled around fate. Or near enough as it got. She never used this bag. And yet there they were. Just when she needed them. She dug around a little more, almost giving up for the sake of servicing irony, before triumphantly pulling out a lighter.

She smiled again as the obedient flame leapt up to attention at her command. She watched it for a moment before raising it to the cigarette nestled between her lips. A thin trail of smoke sparked her interest, finding her nose and filling her senses before she drew it deep into her lungs. Something flickered across her face, a grimace or the ghost of a smile she was never sure.

It tasted like she remembered. Harsh, bitter, with the lingering warnings of a hundred different people telling her she'd regret it. She tasted that for a moment too, and then forgot it.

The smoke scratched the back of her throat and stung, her body not expecting the sudden injection of poison into her system that she had gone so long without.

Her eyes closed and she swayed slightly on the spot as her head spun momentarily. She paused, and then raised it to her lips once more.

"That'll kill you, you know."

The voice behind her was strangely welcome. She smiled at the irony of his comment, given what had been murmuring through her thoughts for the last few minutes, and chose to answer him while she considered after another drag on the cigarette, "So I've heard." She murmured, not looking round.

"I never had you down as a smoker." He told her, trademark flatness resonating through his words.

"Neither did I." She replied, vaguely, "I haven't touched one in..." she paused, having to think for a moment, before shrugging and supplying, "Years now..."

"So why tonight?" He asked, his eyes looking for hers to gauge her reaction as she answered.

She glanced away from him as she said lightly, "Well human beings aren't supposed to be perfect, they're supposed to have flaws." She smirked humourlessly and tipped the cigarette between her fingers towards him, "This is mine."

He favoured her with a rare half smile.

Her eyes flickered towards him again, killing time and letting it burn its way out, smoke winding around them. "If it bothers you I can put it out."

He looked back towards her and raised an eyebrow. She smiled and drew it away from her lips and stubbed it out, her eyes remaining, almost insolently, on him as she did so. She raised her hands to show them they were empty then slid back to his side.

She looked away from him, staring straight ahead without really seeing anything.

"So why the slip?" he asked again.

She pulled herself back to him, playing for time, asking him quietly, "What do you mean?" While she knew perfectly well.

"Years without a smoke. Then you slip up today. Why?" he asked curtly.

She was too used to his bluntness by now to bother trying to find offence in the flat question and simply paused then shrugged and turned away from him, muttering defensively, "It's a memorial service, emotions running high. I'm upset..." She trailed off, shaking her head and looking straight ahead once more, wondering why she had said that to him.

"How did you know him?" he asked her quietly, giving her a way out.

"Work." She told him vaguely, not willing to commit to anything more just yet. Not sure how she would even begin to go about explaining it. She shifted uncomfortably in place and then asked a question of her own, "I didn't know you knew him. Where did you run across him?"

"Work." He told her smoothly, something like a smile flickering in his eye.

She glanced over at him, half amused, half irritated. He stepped back a little, crossing his arms over his chest as he answered calmly, "I worked with him on a lot of cases. He was a good lawyer."

"Yeah..." She murmured absently, "Yeah he was." She hesitated, wondering how much she was prepared to tell him. She wanted to talk to someone. She needed to talk to someone. But she wasn't sure...He was watching her with quiet, guarded eyes, waiting, without pressure, giving her the option of talking to him.

Before she was quite aware of what was happening, words were spilling from her lips, "He was a good lawyer." She found herself agreeing, her words coming too fast, her fingers curling tightly around the railing in front of her, "He was a better agent." She shivered, dipping her head as she said hoarsely, "And he was a good man."

He watched her in silence for several long minutes before, "He was." He agreed firmly.

She met his eyes again as she asked, "You knew him well?"

"Yeah." He told her, nodding. "We worked a lot of high profile cases up in Sacramento. The trials were long, the prep work longer. We spent a lot of time together. I trusted him." He said, nodding curtly, "not something I say of a lot of lawyers." He added flatly.

She let herself smile, almost fondly. "I told him. His face was too honest to be a lawyer's face. They'd never take him seriously. He just smiled and told me he'd make them."

"They did." He told her quietly.

"Yeah, they did." She turned away again, irritably wiping her eyes.

"You okay?" He asked gently.

"Sure. I'm fine." She told him easily, "It's just...Weird. Hearing everyone talking about him and...It just dragged some stuff up for me that's all." She said, losing her nerve at the last minute and backing out.

"You want to talk about it?" He offered gently.

'No' was her first reaction but she suppressed it a little, "I don't know." She told him haltingly. She didn't. It was usually so easy to shut people out. They were always too keen, too eager to feed off of pain and grief and to sink their teeth into anything that could entertain them for an evening. In a way, they cared less than those who were entirely disinterested, asking out of some sort of compulsion or feeling that they should without any intention of listening to answer.

But he was easy to talk to. Almost too easy. But she was fast moving beyond the point of caring about that. She trusted him. Trusted him enough to put her life in his hands almost every day. And perhaps enough to trust her secrets to him for a night.

He considered her for a moment before asking quietly, "You want to go somewhere else? Somewhere quiet?"

She hesitated, having to contain the defensive, instinctive reaction that demanded to know why he was asking her that. Buying her time and shutting him down. It was a stupid question. They both knew why. They both knew she'd come out here to escape rather than to grab a cigarette and some air.

Instead, she hesitated for a moment, and then asked softly, "What did you have in mind?"

He waited a bat then, "I have a room booked at the hotel."

"That's a little presumptuous isn't it?" She asked lightly, considering this.

"It's quiet." He told her smoothly, "We can talk." He paused a moment then deadpanned, "That was presumptuous."

That wrung a little smile from her. She glanced down for a moment then up again, deciding, nodding, "I'd like that."

The room he had for the night was simply furnished but surprisingly spacious. A large double bed sat proudly at the end of the room beside two large glass doors that led out onto a small private balcony area.

She walked around it, her eyes almost subconsciously mapping the space, furniture positions, doors, windows. But they kept flicking back to him, standing still in the middle of the room, following her restless pacing.

Once she had satisfied her habits she took a seat on the edge of the bed, only making eye contact with him again when he perched beside her.

"You're not okay." He told her flatly, not leaving room for an answer or a denial.

"What gave me away?" She demanded flippantly.

"Everything." He informed her bluntly.

"Really?" She muttered, turning away from him.

He still wasn't prying or pushing her into talking to him, which she was grateful for. But even so...

"You're not yourself." His voice was softening a little as he realised that she wasn't going to fight him on any of this.

"No." She murmured softly, feeling her body shaking slightly, acutely aware of his proximity, trying to stop herself from doing so.

"Do you want to talk about anything?"

She did.

"I don't know where to start." She mumbled to her hands, twisting together in her lap.

"What if I start?" He offered quietly.

She looked up at him again, seeing that he wanted this almost as much as she did. She nodded. "That would help." She agreed. She paused a moment then, "How long had you known him?"

"A little over ten years." He answered quietly, "He was the first prosecutor I worked with when I joined the CBI."

She nodded again at this and then said, "He was my first partner. Fresh out of the FBI Academy. I ended up in Philadelphia." He was watching her, his eyes on hers, waiting, encouraging almost, "He, I mean obviously we drifted but...But we kept in touch, where, where we could." She was speaking to her hands again.

"You were close?" he prompted gently.

"Yeah." She murmured, reluctantly. As close as anyone was ever allowed to get to her. "Yeah, I guess we were."

"How close?"

She looked up at him again, startled, almost offended, though there was nothing in his tone that would have justified that. He was blunt, to the point, that was no secret. In fact, it was something she liked and appreciated about him. Transparency bred trust. And that came hard enough with her. But this clipped remark felt almost cold. Invasive. Offensive.

"I'm sorry." He told her a moment later, picking up on her upset and responding to it, "I didn't mean to offend you." He told her.

"You didn't." She lied automatically.

"I did." He persisted stubbornly. "I apologize."

"You're forgiven." She told him lightly trying to deflect some of the discomfort that had blossomed briefly between them. She waited a moment then said, "Are you asking if we were romantically involved?"

"Would it offend you if I was?" he asked her, uncharacteristically cautious.

The corners of her mouth twitched as she said in a measured voice, "I would wonder why you thought it was any of your business."

"I know it's not." He said quietly, "But you know I'm not asking for the sake of prying into your personal life." He added fairly.

"No." She said after a moment considering this, "You're not." She breathed, almost more to herself than to him. He was worried about her, she realised. Genuinely. He wanted to understand. To help.

"It's complicated." She muttered finally. She didn't know what to tell him. She didn't know what she could tell him without crossing some kind of line with him. She didn't know if crossing that line with him was okay. It had been so long. So long since anyone had managed to get inside. She wasn't sure if she was ready.

But she trusted him. She had let herself be alone with him. Let herself tell him things. Was willing to talk. Was willing to listen. Was willing to allow their relationship to evolve past colleagues, past friends even. She almost wanted those things. And she trusted him. She trusted him...

Enough, enough to be here with him, enough to open up, enough to let him in. She trusted him.

"Have you ever been undercover?" she found herself asking quietly.

"A few times." He admitted carefully, wondering where she was going with this.

"What was the longest you did it for?" She pressed.

"Two, three weeks." He shrugged, still looking a little lost.

"And you came home most nights?" She went on, "Back to your flat, your things, your life, right?"

"Right." He agreed. Waiting her out now, following her line of conversation even if she wasn't sure where he was going.

She wasn't looking at him anymore. Staring straight ahead, seeing something that no-one else could. She was shaking too. She felt his hand brush gently against her side, surprised when her body allowed, and almost welcomed the uninvited contact.

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes again, only aware now of how close he was. And how somehow that was okay.

She swallowed and shifted slightly, her eyes flickering away from his again as she breathed, "What about deep cover? Where you don't surface, you don't come back home, you don't come back to yourself for, for weeks, months. You have to live as someone else, pick who you are apart and stuff something else into the holes and know that if you're not that person then they'll kill you? Have you ever had to do that?" Her voice had begun to run away with her towards the end and had not stopped as she went on, her head running with the thread of discomfort that it had been picking away at all night and had unravelled her at the slightest tug from him.

"No." He told her, his voice strange, blunt, to the point, as ever, but somehow soft, somehow sympathetic and understanding, impossible when projected onto the only word that assured her that he could never understand. Yet it comforted her all the same.

"He was my first." She said. Even as the words spilled from her as though they were liquid, upset and uncontrollable, she never knew why she was telling him this, "My first partner of r a deep cover op. It, it was a drug ring in Philadelphia. They wanted people on the inside. We were still pretty new, both of us, no friends or family in the area who would miss us if we went underground for a couple of weeks. And we were more easily replaceable than others."

She hesitated for a moment, struggling with herself, her voice too high when she said, "Ironic isn't it? The more replaceable you are the more valuable that makes you to them?" She gave herself a little shake, clearing her throat and trying to get her trembling hands under control, without success before saying, "It was only supposed to be for a few weeks. But it kept getting more and more complicated and we were in way to deep for them to be able to pull us out." She told him shakily, "Undercover we, we were lovers." She blurted out, her body tensing a little as she spoke, though she was not sure why, "We played our parts' well...Too well some people thought." She muttered, hunching in on herself, almost defensively, "We had to, we'd have been killed otherwise but..."

"How did you feel?" he asked her softly, his fingers wandering protectively towards hers but not quite making contact.

"I don't know." She whispered, a faint shiver running through her.

She felt his fingers gently brush over hers, his touch soft and warm and comforting. She glanced down and watched as her own fingers quietly laced together with his, his thumb gently stroking the top of her hand.

"Take your time." He advised gently.

She shifted uncomfortably, not looking at him, but not pulling away from him either.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you this." She choked suddenly, "It's not, I don't, I mean, I, I've never told anyone about it before..." She said, flushing slightly.

"You don't have to." He told her softly.

"I know." She said, letting their eyes meet again, "But I have to tell someone something. I, I need someone to understand. I just, I just need someone to listen for just a little while, I-"

"I understand." He said quietly, giving her hand a small squeeze.

"It's hard to explain." She said slowly, deciding that she had gone too far with this to back out now, "I, we were under together for almost six months. And we were close. But we weren't...We weren't ourselves. We were different people for six months, we had to be. I could never tell what him was and what was something else, something that he was putting on to keep us safe. And things got confusing sometimes. But I knew that he was the only one who knew who we really were. When sometimes even I'd forgotten. And for six months he was the only person who knew who I really was..." she trailed off, considering for a moment, struggling to put her thoughts into words for him, "But when we came back and they pulled us out, he was the only person who knew, who knew what I'd done." She breathed softly, shaking worse than ever and prompting him to lightly place his other hand over hers as well to try and ground her a little.

"I changed because of that op." She whispered hoarsely, "We both did. I, I had to do things that...To stop criminals, to do the job that I signed up for they made me become a criminal. To get, to get justice I had to...To do the right thing I, I did...things that I...That were so far from the right thing that...Only he could ever justify them to me. Because he'd been through them too. And now he's gone-"She paused again, almost stubbornly meeting his eyes as she said; "He was the only person that I could talk to about that except...Except for you. And I, I still don't know, I don't know why, I don't know, I'm sorry." She broke off again, trembling and shaking her head, pulling her hands from his, disgusted with herself.

She never spoke about that. Never. With anyone. She never spoke about herself like that. Never let anyone see that doubt that insecurity. But he had opened her up. He had opened her up and pulled all of this from her so easily. She had lost control. And she had no way of getting it back. So she had reached out and clung onto him when he had offered her support and now she had no idea how to let him go.

"Hey." He began, a little sharply, "Hey." He repeated, more softly this time, "it's okay." He told her, a strange emotion stirring in his voice as he spoke.

He took her hand again and held it as he said, "I know what it's like. To have been someone else. To have been forced to change. To have done things that I'm not proud of and that everyone else is. To have lost someone that I didn't realise was so important until they were gone. I understand."

He did. She could tell. From the way he was looking at her, from the way that he was holding her hand. He was close. So close. She could feel heat radiating from his skin, she could feel his body taut beside her, could see the grief in his eyes. Grief, for the friend that they had both lost, the understanding that they shared and that they would never have wished on anyone but that they had needed to find in each other now. That relief. That guilty relief that they both felt upon finding it. She could feel him reaching out to her. She could feel herself letting him in. She knew that that was okay now.

"How?" she asked quietly, her hand squeezing his.

"War." He told her shortly, stiffening and then going on, turning to her, "I killed people. People with families. Partners. Children. I killed them. And they told me that that was my job. That that was keeping people safe. That that was a good thing. That it made me a hero..." He broke off abruptly, unable to meet her eyes, but his hand was still tightly gripping on to hers.

"That's why you joined the CBI?" She asked.

"Yes." He murmured quietly, "And your undercover op is why you're not in Philadelphia anymore?"

"Yeah." She breathed.

She turned to look at him again. It had been so long since she had told anyone this that she had almost forgotten what it felt like, to be this open and this intimate with another human being. It had been so long since she had trusted someone as much as she trusted him. She had no idea how she had been so blind to how close they had gotten for so long that it had taken something like this to make her notice. To make them both notice.

"It was. It was...I didn't know." She took a breath, "Everything changed. I, I shut down a bit, I pushed everyone away. It, this job, all it did was..."

"Get people you cared about hurt." He supplied softly.

"Yeah." She whispered, her eyes catching his again, "It was too hard to have anything like a relationship with anyone. I lost contact with everyone because I'd been away for so long. I lost myself a little too. It was, it was easier to be on my own, to take care of myself and convince myself I didn't need anyone." She found herself confessing to him.

They were pressed so close together now that she could feel his body move as he breathed beside her.

"You got lonely?" He said quietly, grim experience bleeding into his words as he went on, "And you convince yourself that's better but..." He trailed off caught up in her, as though only just realising how close she was. His hand was resting on her side, faint, questioning pressure that she allowed, moving in closer to him, finishing for him.

"But in the end you're just lonely..." She hesitated, her eyes flickering away for a second before finding his again.

"I'm so tired of being lonely." She murmured, "I'm so tired of having no-one I just, I just want a little human contact. I, I just want someone."

His hand was tightening on her side. His eyes finding hers. Realising that he wanted that too.

"I want you." She whispered, daringly, the words falling from her before she realised what was happening.

"Kim." He breathed softly.

She looked at him. Her lips slightly parted. His voice soft and intimate. The use of her name and the familiarity he allowed, the invitation, the acceptance, the unspoken confirmation that he wanted her.

She kissed him.

Leaning in, her lips pressing against his, gentle and faint, sinking in to him, and letting her lips p[en beneath his, feeling him do the same, his hands on her waist, holding her close to him.

"Kim." He murmured again as she pulled away for a moment. Her eyes opening. Each of them watching the other. Finding the approval that they needed in an instant. Their lips crashing together once more.

A/N: I just love this pairing and I wanted to write something for them, so this is the result. This is intended to be multi-chapter so I'll post more if you guy's want more. I don't think this is the most popular ship in the world so any and all feedback is very much appreciated! Thanks for reading! (: