Derek held Emily close and kissed her gently. She sighed softly in response and leaned down to rest her head on his chest. He ran a hand down her back, then tipped her chin up to capture her lips again, this time a little more intensely. After a moment, she pulled back, gave him a soft smile, then lightly nuzzled her nose against his.
"I love you, baby," he grinned, rolling on top of her.
She stiffened momentarily, before forcing herself to relax. She reached up to stroke his cheek. "I love you too."
"You are so beautiful." He leaned in to kiss her neck. She smiled softly, but made no move to reciprocate.
Tonight would be the first time they'd made love since she'd returned from the dead. It had been over seven months since either of them had had sex. She could tell he was eager – he had been for awhile, but he hadn't pressured her to do anything before she was ready – tonight she had thought she was ready.
He slid his hand under her shirt, gently stroking her side. Almost immediately, she tensed at the contact and moved away as if she'd been burned. Alarmed, he pulled back and looked at her with concern. "Is something wrong, baby? Am I hurting you?"
"No," she answered, a little too quickly. "I'm fine. Just tired."
He moved off of her. "Tell me, Em. What is it?"
"Let's just do this another night," she said with a shake of her head, "It's late and we're both tired."
"I want to help you, Emily. Something's bothering you. Please tell me."
She closed her eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair. She said nothing for a long time before sighing and whispering. "I…I don't want you to see."
"See what?" he frowned. "I've seen it all, Emily."
She opened her eyes, catching his gaze, fear in her eyes as she glanced down towards her stomach, refusing to say the actual words.
"The scars?" he asked gently.
She nodded and looked away again. "They're hideous. And I know how you feel about…"
He cupped her cheeks and looked into her eyes. "They're not hideous. And how I feel about Ian Doyle has nothing to do with how I feel about you. I love you."
"I just don't want you to look at me and see that." At the resoluteness she saw in his eyes, she shook her head. "It's fine. I'll just keep my shirt on. We can still do this."
"No," he said flatly, "You are my girlfriend and I want to make love to you the way we used to. I don't mind the scars."
"But I do!" she insisted, close to tears.
"Look at me." He lifted her chin until she could look into his eyes. "I love you and that will never change. Those scars are there because you risked your life to protect us."
"They're everything I hate about what happened!"
"There's nothing to hate, Em," he soothed, "He's gone. He's never coming back, but you're here. With me. You won. Don't hold on to the past and miss everything that's around you."
"I just…don't think I'm ready for you to see them."
"I want to see them," he said gently.
She shut her eyes tightly and whispered, "Please, don't do this…"
He wrapped her up in a tight embrace. "I love you and I don't care about those scars. It doesn't change the way I feel about you – in fact, it makes me love you more because of what you did for us. Please, don't hide from me."
With a shaky breath, her fingers digging into his shoulders, she nodded, then buried her face in his neck. Anxiety rising, she moved her trembling hands to the hem of her shirt, then paused. She met his eyes and he smiled reassuringly and, with a final breath, she pulled the shirt over her head.
He gave her a quick kiss before sliding his hands down her bare stomach, gently running his fingers over the ridge of her scar. "You can trust me," he murmured. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the scar. "Is that okay?"
For a moment, she seemed very tempted to say no, but eventually, she gave a slow nod. He continued to lavish attention on the scar for several moments before travelling up her body until he hovered over her breasts and immediately the self-consciousness came flooding back. "Don't!" she yelped, clapping a hand over the clover burned into her chest.
"Emily…" he soothed.
"No," she insisted. "It's his marking. He's marked me as his…forever. Please, don't go there."
"He didn't," he said sternly, "He marked you because he wanted revenge. You're not his – you're not even mine – you belong to you and no one else owns you. You have nothing to be afraid of anymore."
"I'm not afraid," she insisted, frowning. And just to prove her point, she nodded to him that he should continue.
He kissed her softly, a silent reassurance, before kissing down her neck, watching her intently for any hesitation. He touched the scar faintly and she immediately cringed.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, shutting her eyes.
"Don't be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for." With a faint smile, she relaxed and he took the opportunity to press his lips to the scar. "It's going to be okay," he reassured, "I love you."
"I love you too," she echoed, her smile a little stronger as her fingers traced up and down his back.
"I know." He ran a hand along the scar on her belly. "I'm sorry I couldn't get to you sooner. You wouldn't have had to go through all of that if I had only gotten there faster."
"Don't so that," she begged, "I can't handle that right now."
He kissed her in apology. "I love you so much."
"I missed you," she whispered, stroking his jaw tenderly.
"I missed you too, baby," his fingers teased the clasp of her bra. "I want you…"
"Are you sure?" she asked hesitantly, "Maybe it's too soon…maybe we should wait."
"I can wait as long as you want me to," he said sincerely, "We can stop right now if that's what you want."
"I don't know," she said, a little ashamed, "I don't really know what I want…"
"It's okay. Don't think about anything but yourself. I'm not going to be mad if you want to stop."
Slowly, she nodded and nuzzled his neck. "Keep going."
"Are you sure?"
She laughed faintly. "No…but I'll tell you if I need you to stop."
He carefully rolled them so that she could have control. He ran his hands along her sides, gazing up at her lovingly.
She leaned back to properly look at him, trying to decide what to do next. "I never thought I'd be doing this again," she said quietly.
"Why is that?"
"I didn't think I'd ever get to see you again…"
He ran his fingers through her hair and pulled her down to kiss her forehead. "I thought I'd lost you forever too."
She kissed his jaw. "Do you…" She kissed his pulse point. "…remember…" She kissed his clavicle. "…the last time…" She kissed over his heart. "…we were…" She kissed over his heart a second time. "…together?"
"I could never forget. It was a few weeks before you found out Doyle had escaped – you were trying to make me feel better after I let Don Sanderson out of prison and was feeling guilty…"
With a little sigh, she leaned down to lie on his chest. "I'll never be able to make up for all that time we lost."
"Those seven months are gone, but we have so many years ahead of us. Don't let that time hold you back."
"How do you do that?" she asked, a frown in her voice. "Everyone said you were so angry when you learned what I did with him…"
"I wasn't angry at what you did with him or even that you actually loved him. I was angry that you didn't trust me enough to stay and let me help you. But when I saw you lying there I knew I had no right to be angry. I'd have done the same thing to protect you." A tear escaped as she captured his lips in a loving kiss. "Don't cry…" he urged.
"God, I don't deserve you." She laced her fingers with his and gave an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry…I don't think I can do anything tonight."
"Don't be sorry. I'm just happy to hold you."
She cuddled up to him and rested her head over his heart, moving his hand to rest on her hip. After several moments of comfortable silence, she asked quietly, "Why did it matter so much that you see them? I have lots of scars."
"Because I don't want you to hate yourself and to remind me all the crap you had to go through just to keep us safe. Those other scars never bothered you the way these two do."
"I didn't have to die for the other ones…"
"Exactly."