Sexual tension is like fireworks. She's realizing this. They can be pretty and sparkly and something you want to happen again and again. Or, as in her unfortunate case, they explode at the wrong time, when it's not time, while still in their package, and someone loses a finger, or a toe, or an entire foot.
They've been tiptoeing around this for too long and when she finally breaks him, she knows that, even though there've been dangerous sparks for weeks, no one's lost a foot.
Waking up to his breathe on the back of her neck sends shivers racing through all the nerves she's studied about for so long. The one thing that textbooks never show you is what they feel like. How they look when they react. They make it clinical and as separate as they can, when, she realizes, it's so personal.
They're cutting and stitching and repairing people who get the same tingles down their spine when someone kisses their shoulder, who love to sleep in, who argue with someone in a day. They repair these people, and yet. These things are being torn down and fit into a textbook.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks, bringing her out of her thoughts.
She smiles, "Nothing," and closes her eyes when his lips meet hers.
She's run off her feet by the end of the day, and she's still not finished. Her interns have driven her crazy, and she's on their backs for more mistakes than she thought possible.
She's taking a minute in the on call room and doesn't hear the door open, but feels his hands on her neck, the knot that's been bugging her for a couple of hours.
"Damn it Karev, you have the hands of a surgeon," he tells him, leaning against his shoulder and he kisses the curve of her neck and she knows she could stay there for forever.
"You know it babe," he whispers into the curve of her ear.
Of course the beeping of two beepers interrupts them, seconds apart and she's not ready to leave this room, not yet. He notices and raises his eyebrows, "We'll get to it later," to which she rolls her eyes (because that's not what she was thinking), hiding a smile, and exits the room, his footsteps going the opposite direction.
Forty-eight hours is finally over and she's tossing her body for the nearest chair or couch, hoping she doesn't miss, but knowing she'll stay on the floor if she does.
Instead, he's handing her her jacket and grabbing her hand, the tired leading the tired, and heads them both out to his vehicle, the one they came to work in.
She falls semi-asleep on her way home, and wakes to him watching her. She smiles and opens the door, not letting anything get in between her, the shower, and the bed.
"Something on your mind?" he asks as he takes her scarf and hangs it up.
"Only the fact that my interns are incompetent," she tells him, "I cannot believe the number of times I had to stand Bailey's look because they had done something stupid," she tells him, "I ended up having them re=do almost a dozen different charts today. A dozen!" she gives out a frustrated sigh.
"How was your shift?" she asks, remembering that he's listening.
He smiles and shrugs, "Not too bad. But, you're going to fall asleep on your feet, let's get you upstairs."
She knows that any other time she would comment on him not being an ass, but right now she's too tired and flattered to care. He helps her up the stairs, and the next thing she knows she's wrapped up in a thick comforter and his arms and she knows that the fireworks are going off just like they were meant to be.