A/N At the end of 'Promises, Promises' Sully goes to Nevada. In 'Expedition' we learn he was gone for a month. And I said to myself, THAT SEX MUST'VE BEEN SPECTACULAR. So, uh, here we are. I am, apparently, shameless.

If you do not want to read about married people who love each other having sex then you should hit the back button now.

We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak.

"Welcome home."

Sully jumped down from the train to see Matthew's grinning face. "Good to be home," he said as they shook hands. He shouldered his bags, feeling the weight almost like a part of himself after carrying them with him for so long.

Horace walked out of the conductor's office with a broad smile. "It's sure good to have you back, Sully. But I thought you wasn't comin' til tomorrow."

"It's a surprise for Dr Mike," Matthew said. "So you can't say nothin'."

"Oh, I won't. You can count on me." Horace's smile stretched even wider. "Dr Mike's gonna be real pleased."

"Hope so," Sully said, with his own grin.

He and Matthew stepped from the platform into the morning sun. "Dr Mike's at the clinic," Matthew told him as they crossed the tracks. "She don't suspect a thing and Colleen made sure she's got no appointments this mornin'."

"I owe you."

"You don't owe us. We all just want her to be happy. She's been kinda low since you been gone. She tries to hide it, but..." He shrugged. "It's good you're back. I just can't believe Brian kept his mouth shut."

Sully chuckled. "What did you bribe him with?"

"Candy," said Matthew with a laugh. "What else?"

It was still early enough in Colorado Springs that there weren't too many people about. Matthew and Sully took the long way to the clinic, avoiding the general store and Grace's. Sully felt like he'd been gone a lot longer than three weeks, but the town looked just the same as when he left.

The clinic was casting a wide shadow when they reached its western side. Matthew held his hand out for Sully's bags. "I'll take 'em to the wagon."

"Thanks." Sully rolled his shoulders to ease the muscles, a new tension growing in him as he looked up at the clinic windows. He glanced back at Matthew. "For everything."

The younger man just grinned. "See you tonight at supper."

Sully watched Matthew walk away, finding himself unaccountably nervous. He'd spent four weeks missing Michaela, wanting her, writing her letters that he never sent. The urge to get home had driven him on for days of little sleep, just so he could be here sooner. To surprise her, yes, but mostly because he was so desperate to see her. And now he stood leaning against the wall of the clinic, imagining he could feel her through the wood, shaken by the need inside him. No one had ever had the kind of power over him that she did, that he'd fought for so long. Even now, the wonder and the terror of it could still surprise him.

The door to the clinic was propped open when Sully stepped silently onto the porch. Michaela was framed by the doorway, sitting at her desk, absorbed in reading and taking notes. She was turned slightly towards him and he could see the little crease between her brows that appeared when she was concentrating. The light from the window behind her lit up her hair, highlighting its yellows and gold. She wore it over one shoulder in a thick braid, with strands escaping here and there as they always did, no matter how she tried to tame them.

Somehow she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

For a few seconds he just stood, watching her, love overwhelming him with its intensity. It grabbed him sometimes that way, just grabbed him. He thought he should be used to it by now, but it could still swamp him.

"Mornin'," he said casually, leaning against the doorframe, and grinned when her head shot up.

"Sully?" She stared at him in disbelief. "How did— your telegram said you wouldn't be home until tomorrow."

"Thought I'd surprise you. Want me to go back?"

She blinked then gave a little hiccuping laugh. "Don't you dare," she said and all but flung herself into his arms. She wrapped herself around him and pressed her face against his shoulder. "I missed you. I missed you so much."

"I missed you." He held her tightly, running both hands up and down her back, taking in as much of her as he could. The scent of her filled his lungs. Closing his eyes, he dropped his face into the curve of her neck and sighed. This was what he'd been missing all those miles; this was his whole world.

They stayed that way for a while, just holding on to each other, until the stroking of his hands over her slowed into something more deliberate. Michaela arched against him slightly and the air around them turned charged the way it did before a storm. Sully lifted his head and kissed the spot just above the fabric of her collar. "I missed you," he whispered again, then opened his mouth to suck lightly on the flesh he'd kissed.

A breath shivered out of her with his name, her hands tightening on him. She turned her face to his and desire blazed through him as their mouths met. They kissed like they could crawl inside each other, fuse together into one being.

Sully's only coherent thought was that he had to touch her. He needed his hands on her skin, nothing between them. He took a step, backing her up, and they stumbled further into the clinic, still kissing. Michaela was making soft sounds in her throat that went straight to the heavy ache in his groin. He picked her up and set her on the desk, holding her hips tightly against his. Reaching down, he began working her skirt up over her knees.

With a start, Michaela wrenched her mouth away from his. "The door." Her darkened eyes met his as if she expected him to understand. But he didn't care about any door. He stroked the backs of her knees and bent to kiss her again. "Sully, we have to shut the door," she said, insistent, wriggling free from his arms.

The clinic door, he realised, which was open so that anyone could walk by and see them. He took a deep breath, feeling a little guilty, a little embarrassed that he'd been so caught up in her he hadn't thought of it himself.

He watched as she shifted the heavy book propping the door with her foot, admiring the glimpse of slender ankle. The door swung shut and she fumbled with the lock, finally sliding it into place, then turned, her back against the wood. She was flushed, her mouth open, her hair escaping its braid, and she was beautiful, his wife.

She smiled at him and he was lost again.

With two steps he was close enough to touch her. He reached out to trail one finger down the buttons on her blouse, from high at her throat to where they disappeared into her skirt. His short nail made a ticking sound against each one. When his hand reached her waist, he slid it sideways, curving up and over the delicate rise of her ribs until his fingers rested just beneath her breast. He could feel her heart thudding under his palm.

Another step and he was pressing her against the door with his body. Michaela closed her eyes and arched her head back, pushing herself against him and exposing her soft white throat. Sully bent his head to lick her where the hot blood ran under her skin. His hands moved to cup her face, fingers sliding into her hair as his tongue slid into her mouth and his hips rocked, rocked, rocked against hers. He stopped thinking about anything but the feel of her in his hands, her hot little tongue in his mouth.

He had her blouse almost entirely unbuttoned before her fingers covered his. "Wait, we can't—" she whispered, then moaned as he began to kiss his way across her throat to her ear. "Not here" she said, breathless.

It took him a second to focus when he pulled back this time. Her lips were wet and swollen and a soft flush rose from her neck into her cheeks. Sully had to close his eyes against the force of his desire. Of course they couldn't. Not in the clinic. Fighting for control, he eased away and braced his hands on either side of her against the door. "Sorry," he said, trying to steady his breathing.

"There's no need to be sorry," she said softly. He felt her kiss his hand and then the withdrawal of her warmth as she slipped out from under his arms. The loss almost hurt.

He pushed off from the door to stand straight and scrubbed his hands over his face. When he looked to Michaela, her blouse was still undone and she was watching him with a small, secret smile playing around her mouth. She took his hand between both of hers and pulled him backwards into the hallway. His breath clogged in his throat when he understood where she was leading him.

With the door closed, the air of the recovery room was still and hushed. In the dim light, Sully watched as she slid the blouse from her shoulders and placed it over the chair, as she sat and unlaced her boots. He was entranced by the grace of her movements, the faint glow of her skin, the look in her eyes as she came to stand before him. The look that was only for him.

Her hands cupped his face, her soft fingers tracing along his jaw as she guided him down to her mouth. Sully tried to hold back, to slow himself down, but the need inside him reared up, ferocious. He gripped the fabric of her skirt, pulling her tightly against him, and she rose up on her toes to kiss him fiercely. The world narrowed to their mouths, their hands, as they fumbled with buttons and closures.

"You wear too many clothes," he muttered and she answered with a sound that was half-laugh, half-moan.

Finally, finally, they tumbled onto the bed, skin to skin, bodies straining for purchase. He tried to reach between them to touch her but she shook her head and wrapped her legs around him.

"Please," she said. "I need you."

It was happening too fast. He was right on the edge and he had to wait, had to give her pleasure first. But her hips shifted, guiding him, and she took him in and in, and he didn't have the strength to resist what he wanted so badly. She moved, he moved, every pulse a sharp spear of sensation so intense it was almost unbearable. Her body was hot and soft and liquid around him and he drowned in her gladly. Everything was too much, too good. The way she arched against him, the salty taste of her skin, the sounds in her throat, her hands on him. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't stop. When she shuddered and cried out, contracting around him, it tore through him, blazing like the sun, the searing white heat of his release.

They lay together for a moment, breathless. Then she started laughing against his shoulder.

"What's so funny?" he mumbled.

"I think we set a speed record this time."

"Would've been faster if you didn't wear all those clothes."

She slapped his arm lightly, still laughing. "Just for that, you're going to help me tidy up."

He lifted his head to look down at her beautiful, smiling face. "I suppose that's fair," he agreed, sweeping the hair from her cheek. "And then what'll we do?"

"Well, since there's been a conspiracy to keep my schedule free this morning, I thought it would be nice to go home."

"I'd like that." He laid his brow gently against hers and closed his eyes. "Let's go home."

The title comes from Roger de Bussy-Rabutin: "Absence is to love what wind is to a fire; it puts out the little, it kindles the great". The epigraph is by Walt Whitman from Song of Myself.

Many thanks to Jacks for beta reading and being generally awesome.