*AN - my first published fanfic; a Fin/OC pairing. It's actually the middle of the story, but i won't waste time setting the stage here; if folks are interested, i'll fill in the blanks.

Beauty and the Beast: An Interlude

"And look at the two of you now – a detective with the special victims unit and a therapist who works with abuse and rape survivors."

Emma was quiet for a moment, then caught him with an intense stare.

"And what about you, Odafin Tutuola. What painful memories from your past drive you?"

Fin held her gaze, losing himself in her ocean blue eyes. Any words he thought of forming caught in his throat, so instead, he took the mug of tea from her hands, set it on the coffee table and leaned in to kissed her. She kissed him back, the tentativeness she had shown earlier that evening vanished. He wanted to be closer, to feel her pressed against him, and his instinct was to push her back against the arm of the couch, pinning her beneath him. But he didn't know if that would cause her to feel trapped, so instead he pulled her towards him.

Emma came willingly, moving into his lap, her knees falling to either side of his hips. Fin let his hands rest on her waist, broke away from her kiss to trace her neck with his lips.

"You're deflecting…" she murmured, a hint of amusement in her voice as she nipped at his ear.

"Is that what I'm doin'" he replied, hands sliding up the back of her tank top, lips returning to her mouth.

"Mmmhmm…." she nodded as she kissed him again and he could feel her smile against his lips.

Fin broke off their kiss, bringing his hands back to her waist. He looked past her quizzical gaze, taking in the shelves of books lining the room, the framed prints – Dali, O'Keefe, Rossetti, and he only knew because she had told him – on the walls. Who was he trying to kid? She had read all of those books. He had looked at several of them while she was in the shower – ones that hadn't been for school. Her father was a professor at Oxford, an art historian. Her childhood had been spent attending museums and gallery openings, theatre performances and the ballet. Even the way she spoke, that cultured British accent, was refined and polished.

And he, a cop, so successful in the narcotics unit because he had grown up in the projects, who had never traveled outside the US, how could he hope to fit himself into her life? Even her abuse at the hands at Liv's mom had taken place in a fancy penthouse apartment – a far cry from the crack addicted hookers he'd seen beaten on in his neighborhood.

"Fin…Fin, it's alright." Her hands were cool on his cheeks, her lips hot on his own as she bent down to kiss him. "You don't have to tell me." Her hair fell softly around his face and he allowed the smell of her shampoo to drown out the memories her question had stirred up.

Emma was giving him an easy out and, coward that he was in that moment he took it, pulling her closer to him, crushing her against his chest. He parted her lips with his tongue, tasting the lingering bit of peppermint from her tea. Her bare skin was under his hands again as he brought them up under her top, kneading the muscles of her back.

She opened her knees wider, allowing her hips to rock towards him as she slid even further into his lap, and Fin felt himself harden beneath her. And with that sensation came another sudden awareness. He was in sweats and boxers, she in thin flannel pajama pants. There would be no hiding his arousal from her, and he had just delivered a speech promising he had no expectations, no desires for being here tonight.

His traitorous response only proved to him further that he shouldn't be here with her, like this. For the third time that night he pulled away from her, pushing her gently off his lap and back onto the couch. Her expression was hurt and confused as he mumbled something about having to go to the bathroom, but Fin stood up and made his way there anyways, closing the door behind him and grasping the sink with both hands.

His head swirled with the way she had felt under his hands, the way she had tasted, the fact that the only thing between the bare skin of his chest and her breasts had been a thin cotton tank top. This wasn't helping the problem that had driven him into the bathroom to begin with, so he forced himself instead to think about a six year old Emma, shivering in a wet little girl's night gown, tiny fists banging on the glass of the window as she looked inside to see Olivia and Serena fighting, teeth chattering as she looked at the ground a dizzying distance below her, wondering if she would be let back in before her bare feet froze to the fire escape.

He had to fight to keep from putting his fist through the mirror above the sink, but the beginnings of his erection quickly vanished as he pictured the night she had recounted for him. Splashing cold water on his face he took a deep breath before returning to the living room where Emma had curled herself back up in the corner of the couch, feet tucked under her, head resting against the back of the couch.

Her eyes, which had been closed, snapped open as he sat down, the blue dark and stormy now, rather than the bright luminescent blue of earlier that night.

"You don't have to stay," she said, her words clipped. "Not on my account."

"You want me to go?"

"Did I say that?"

Fin sighed and shook his head.

"Then don't make this about me, when it's clearly about you."

Damn, she had his number. If he wasn't busy feeling sorry for himself, Fin would've laughed. Instead he did nothing, said nothing, just sat there and wondered where, between dancing with her at dinner and sitting here now, things had gotten so turned around.

"Fin…" her voice was softer and he felt the couch shift as she moved towards him, resting her head on his shoulder and twining her fingers with his. "I know what you're trying to do…and I appreciate it. But please, trust me to tell you if things are going too far…and if this isn't what you want, then just say so."

"Aw…baby girl…there is nothing about being here with you that I don't want…" He was about to add a "but". But I don't want to hurt you, but I don't want to move to fast, but I don't want to scare you or break you, you beautiful, delicate, sweet girl who has been broken too many times before…But she stopped him, a finger to his lips.

"Then save that "but" and come to bed with me." She stood up and extended her hand to him. Fin stared at the small fingers, the perfectly painted nails, the pale skin on the inside of her wrist, lined with neat, parallel scars marching up her arm. He took her hand in his and stood up to face her. Tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and stroked her cheek gently.

"Lead the way, baby girl," he said. She rewarded him with a small smile, and he followed her into her bedroom.

*AN - please do review. I know OC's can be tricky, and if this holds no interest to anyone but myself I'll try something else. But if you're curious to know what Emma's connection to Olivia is, and how she came to be leading Fin into her bedroom (lucky lucky girl) I'm happy to oblige.