A/N: I have no idea why I love writing things where I don't use their names, but I do.

Also, for those of you who have read these before, I apologize. I was having a slight moral crisis about whether posting fanfiction online was legal etc. etc. so I took my stories down for a while. Fortunately, I've gotten over that and am reposting these, though in a slightly different fashion than before. They're all going in one collection-they all belong together anyway.

Inspired by Love is Only Love by Barbra Streisand from "Hello, Dolly!"

Down to Earth

He wasn't a very physically affectionate person.

He never shied away from human touch unless someone had dirty hands (like when Hanji would come to him with some new theory after experimenting-without washing her hands). In fact, whenever she said hello by way of a hug, he seemed to enjoy it. He wouldn't stiffen and stand rigid until it was over-he'd gently encircle her waist with his arms and rest his head on her shoulder, drawing her closer to him.

But he didn't usually initiate human contact. She was always the one to hug him, or hold his hand, or kiss him on the cheek. But she still knew that he loved her.

It certainly wasn't because he would stare at her with eyes brimming with love and affection, because he didn't. His eyes didn't show his thoughts and feelings that way. It was the fact that he would stare at her at all. The fact that he would just sit and gaze at her, without saying anything, for seemingly no reason at all. (Her cheeks would flame up when he did that, especially if they were in public.)

Neither was it because when she hugged him, she felt as if she were floating on a cloud. Hugging him usually felt a little bit more like being weighed down, since he was shorter and heavier than she was. It was because he hugged her back. Because when he hugged her back he held her tightly and protectively, as if he didn't ever want her to leave his arms.

And it wasn't because when she kissed him she heard violins playing a love song. He never treated kissing as a big production. Their kisses weren't long, drawn out affairs but rather short, sweet, and to the point. It was because he kissed her back; and because sometimes, when she couldn't resist and gave him a quick peck in front of his squad, she'd see a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks, even though he went on with business as usual.

It wasn't even because when they held hands, she felt a connection. She really didn't feel or notice anything special when she held his hand. No, it was because he wouldn't try to yank his hand away or just let it lay limply in hers like a dead fish. It was because he held her hand gently but firmly and didn't let go.

It was because he saved his embraces, his reaches for her hand, his kisses, his "I love you's" for when she really needed them.

It was because his love was quiet that she knew it was real.