The Truth Hurts

"Late night?" Megan asked, smirking, as Colby came into the office around midnight, looking exhausted and like the only reason he even got up was so he wouldn't be bothered the next day at six in the morning.

"If you're talking about me and Simone," Colby said, fatigued but irritable, "no. She left after we had dinner."

"Don't even think I'm giving you your twenty back," Megan said firmly, leaning back in her chair. "There's no chance. I still won, fair and square."

"Figured as much," Colby said cynically, sighing heavily.

Megan frowned at Colby's lack of retort. Usually—always—Colby would shoot off some smartass remark that Megan would be fake annoyed at for a while, then marvel once more at his ability to simply come up with such sarcastic and smarmy comebacks off the top of his head. This recent reserved, monotonous Colby wasn't nearly as spontaneous and fascinating as she remembered.

He was now looking a little too closely at some crime scene pictures, which didn't make any more sense than his lack of witticisms, as it was his day off and the day had been a rather boring one at that anyway. In fact, the only thing indicating he was supposed to be there was his badge fastened to his jeans, casual black shirt half-obscuring it.

"Okay. What happened?" Megan asked seriously, getting up to sit on the edge of his desk.

"Nothing," Colby said with a sudden brusqueness. He stood up, ignoring the unimportant case files. "I shouldn't have come down here anyway. There really wasn't a point now I think on it."

He started walking away, leaving Megan to ponder his actions, and he was all the way to the stairwell before Megan's brain finally caught up with his absence. She got up from his desk corner, walking away quicker than she would normally do. She wasn't completely sure whether it was because, as a profiler, his behavior was statistically significant. Because it could have also been that, as a friend, his behavior was worryingly abnormal for his structured and yet carefree attitude.

She finally reached the stairwell he had just occupied as he was exiting through the backdoor, and she ran down the stairs as hastily as she could. "Colby! Colby, wait!" she called, hoping he'd heard her.

"Megan, I really, really am not wanting a psychoanalysis at the moment," he said from behind the door Megan had just opened, a hand rubbing his face. And Megan, for a split second, was forcefully reminded of the same action of a few months ago when everyone—except her, Megan remembered—had thought Colby was some sort of spy. She brushed the thought off.

"I wasn't going to," she said truthfully, and his face turned away from her. In the December evening, the temperatures were cold enough to induce shivers in Megan, even though it was Los Angeles, but Megan was more concerned with the whirlwind feelings of the man in front of her. "Colby, tell me. What went on?"

It seemed an eternity before Colby finally answered, his jacket making Megan envious of its obvious warmth, though she could still see Colby's breath in the night air the same as hers, clouds of white partially masking the otherwise clear starlight. He sighed, and Megan got the impression he was trying to find words right enough so whatever he was to say wouldn't seem either presumptuous or hypercritical.

"It was going great for a while; Simone's a great person," Colby said, as if he needed to justify himself. "She just…she asked what kind of things I did before the FBI job and why I was briefly on the newscast she'd heard for a few days a while ago; back before the NSA and CIA could cover it up."

He paused, and Megan thought she understood why. "Did you tell her you were a—"

"Triple agent for the Chinese?" Colby scoffed. "No, I didn't. I just said I'd been in Afghanistan and that I was simply one of the people involved in the Carter investigation." He looked up to meet Megan's eyes, and amidst the green hues, she saw regret; sadness; desperation. He sighed again, once more dropping his gaze. "There's no one I can tell. No one understands what I went through. What I was forced to do."

Megan put her hand hesitantly on his forearm, but when he didn't pull away, she gave it a small squeeze. "I understand, Colby," she said sincerely. So sincerely, she realized, she doubted she'd ever been so serious in her life as she was then. "My work for the DOJ—it made me feel violated; violated and shamed. I wasn't tortured like you were, Colby, I wasn't injected or beaten. But the things they made me carry out…well, let's just say I've never regretted something more in my life," she said, looking intently at him, seeing the same sadness in his eyes as she imagined were in her own.

"I just want to lead a normal life," Colby continued in a strangled sort of voice, wresting his arm away from Megan's and shoving his hands in his pockets. "Just go back to being an ordinary agent. With Don, David, Charlie…you. None of this damned spy shit anymore. Just honesty. I did things I never thought I was capable of. It wasn't me. Killing people just to keep my cover, getting intel by force and painful coercion…it was like Afghanistan all over again. I could hardly handle it, Megan. Suicide had felt like the better of two evils, some nights, I have to say. sometimes I think, with the nightmares I have, I should've gone through with it."

"No." Megan objected, more vehemently than she'd intended. "Don't say that, Colby. You're too good to have done that. Too important."

"That's what they said."

Finally, Megan couldn't handle the practically corporeal emotions emanating off of him, and before she, let alone he, knew what she was thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, her eyes closed and willing him to lose the so ingrained horrors. Through his shirt, she could hear his heart beating, a strong constant like the body she'd always considered to be the core of compartmentalization and sturdiness.

He tensed at first—Megan imagined he'd had far too little human contact—but then seemed to reluctantly accept her proximity. Awkwardly, as if he felt it was more for her benefit than his, he put his hands around her waist, inadvertently pulling her closer to him. As if in a surrealist art, Megan being separated from her right mind and thoughts, she leaned against his broad chest, feeling the taut muscles underneath, still slightly rigid.

She felt herself slowly thawing out against his deep body heat, and with his arms still around her, she simply felt comfortable. And for the moment, it was not she, Megan Reeves, who was engaged in a deep, perfervid connection with Colby Granger, but rather two broken souls finding solace within one another.

"Megan—" Colby started, but Megan shook her head against him, effectively quieting the low, hoarse voice that had resonated next to her.

"I don't know, Colby," Megan said, referring to her most recent action, and still slightly wondering what in the world was going on with her. "Just…stay. Please."

He was silent for a few seconds, before speaking again. Megan, against her better judgment, reveling in the power Colby's voice seemed to radiate near to her. "Why are you here?" he asked, and Megan frowned, though she doubted Colby noticed it. "Wouldn't Fleinhardt be a better candidate for comforting you? He is your, you know, boyfriend, after all. I'm just your relationship-less colleague who happened to be in the same place at the same time as you."

Still close to him, Megan looked up, seeing Colby's eyes as honest as ever, a factor of his she realized that, no matter the situation, always held the truth. A rarity in the world. She carefully considered her answer, mainly because she wasn't wholly sure the response herself. Why had she gone to him? He didn't know what she went through; he didn't want help. So why had she come?

"I guess I just needed someone who wouldn't judge me by context alone. Who had some semblance of knowledge of what I did and the feelings I endured," Megan said slowly, unsure of Colby's thoughts as his expression remained impassive.

In a painfully real action, Colby tightened his arms around her, she feeling his tense muscles against her frame, and she tried but didn't fail to notice how perfectly she seemed to fit against him. She attempted to quell the notion, but it didn't seem to work very well. And just as readily as if she hugged Colby regularly, which she didn't, she let herself be encircled next to his chest, inhaling the faint apple-cinnamon scent he appeared to exude.

She felt his mouth close to her ear, and she subliminally held her breath. "I'm glad you did, Megan," he all but whispered. Megan had a feeling that was all he could manage at the moment.

She turned her head in her thinking she needed additional air, but apparently Colby hadn't predicted it, for her moving position and his staying still caused his lips to briefly brush up against hers. Their touch was almost as light as if nothing had happened, but, betraying her conscious wishes, she felt unprecedented excitement and fervor flow through her.

It was so sure and withstanding she couldn't deny that no matter how innocent and sweet Larry's kisses were, her and Colby's transient one had all the unbridled ardency that her and Larry's seemed to now be deficient in. He pulled away quickly, looking youthfully guilty, and he ran a hand uncomfortably through his hair, Megan missing the warmth he'd had.

"I'm—I'm sorry, Megan," he stuttered. Megan had never heard him stutter before—it was a strange effect. "I didn't—I didn't mean to, I—"

"It's all right," Megan said hastily, her own voice weak and shaky. "Truth be, I probably needed it at the moment."

Colby looked appropriately surprised. "What do you—? Never-Nevermind," he stopped, then seemed to notice her renewed shivers she happened to barely register. "You're cold." He stated, as if her temperature was actually important right then.

She looked down to her arms, which now bore goosebumps. She restrained herself from pointing out he was the one that had made her warmer in the first place and that he was the one who had the more heated jacket. "I'm fine," she protested.

"No, you're not," Colby intimated, and, without further vocalizations, removed his jacket, the one he always wore and never let anyone borrow, starting to put it onto Megan's shoulders. Despite the fact that it was obviously overly large for her, it gave her the encasement she needed.

"Colby, you don't have to do that," she said half-heartedly, but didn't exactly shrug off the apparel. For, as she quickly noticed, it was as warm as Colby had been, and contained his same signature scent. She wasn't stupid—she knew when to accept an offer.

Colby cleared his throat uncomfortably, hands deep in his jean pockets again. "Well, listen, I, uh, I should probably get going. I have to go to the gym; haven't gone today yet."

Megan stopped herself from saying he didn't really need to work out anymore, and she wrapped the jacket tighter around herself. He turned around, clicking the Unlock button on his truck's keys, about to open the driver's door.

"Colby, hold on a second," she said suddenly.

He turned back to her, the same pitiful look from before so obvious on his face. She walked over to him, her breath once again subconsciously held, and reached up, her hands on either side of his face, feeling a hint of stubble on his strong jawline. Before either knew what was happening, Megan pressed her lips against his with a hard intensity, though she knew it wouldn't last very long. She felt herself grab his collar, effectively pulling him down towards her, and his adroit hands loosely yet firmly fastened around her waist. After a few moments of halfway unintentional passion, she pulled away, feeling her lips tingling—a sensation that her diabolical subconscious felt necessary to mention never happened with Larry—Colby's face immensely surprised, although she detected an underlying, intense desire.

"Thank you, Colby. For everything you've always done for me," Megan said, quickened breathing not escaping her guilty notice, and Colby's eyes locked heavily with hers, their emerald shades glinting from the shimmery night sky, making them look, if possible, even more pensively viridescent.

"No—No problem," Colby said finally, his voice low and throaty. Almost as if it were simply a customary motion, and with a deft, confident hand, he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, touch unwillingly leaving a heated trail across her face. "Hang in there, Megan."

The phrase was so strangely, and yet pleasantly, déjà vu to her, bringing up their conversation from a few weeks ago that, as a result of his speech, had re-soldered her trust at least in the FBI, and she nodded. "Don't forget, Colby," she said abruptly.

"Forget what?"

"You're not alone."

And with that, Megan turned away from him, his coat still fastened tightly around her, intense gaze cemented in her mind, and as she parted from him, she knew something had been born and changed between them. Something Megan was sure—the first thing she'd been positive about for a long time—was for the better. And that would stay with her forever.

I realize Megan may have been slightly out of character here, but I wanted to portray her and Colby's relationship as something to be possibly acted upon and that something like her DOJ assignment and his espionage could bring out the need to comfort each other. That, and I've always sensed an attraction between them. Regardless, I hope you liked it, and will tell me what you think.