Need by chibiness87

Rating:K
Genre:Angst/romance? (Not sure…)
Pairing:GSR
Length:674 words
Spoilers:8.07 (because, by gosh, there hasn't been enough post- 8.07 fics already…)
Disclaimer:Not mine.
Summary: Everything was the same. But it wasn't.

A/N:This is a weird one… I have no idea where it came from. It's kinda angsty, but not… it's hard to explain. And it's not beta'd, all mistakes are mine.

You step through the doors and look around.

Everything was the same.

But it wasn't.

People still crowding the corridors, rushing.

Always rushing.

You never noticed until now just how fast everything was.

The reception desk is empty, and you feel oddly happy about that.

You make your way down the hallway.

Slowly.

You have all the time in the world.

Nowhere to rush to.

Not anymore.

The rooms are all the same.

Same people, working away.

It's almost like you haven't left at all.

But not quite.

The first person to notice you're here is the cleaner.

You find it ironic really.

But he is friendly.

You know him.

He didn't go and murder 4 people and try to kill you.

He smiles at you, gives you a nod.

You nod back.

It isn't until you are passing he stops you.

Without a word he reaches into his cart, pull something small out and hand it to you.

You're name.

You take the piece of fabric from him, and stare.

The 5 letters that have followed you around since childhood stare back at you.

And for the first time in a long while you don't feel remorse at them.

Your thumb traces over the stitching, playing with the slight fray at the end of the letters.

You smile at him once more before continuing on your way.

You still have no destination in mind.

You just let your legs take you where they will.

The break room is still the same as always.

The same couch.

Table.

Chairs.

The coffee maker is new, and you wonder who bought it.

The pot is still half full.

You've become optimistic in the last few months. It's a nice feeling.

A sniff tells you Greg made the batch.

That or someone has raided his supply again.

It used to be you.

Before.

You wonder who took that job after you left.

Armed with a cup of java, you had out into the halls once more.

A lab tech yells an apology over his shoulder as he almost runs into you.

The old you would have replied, maybe yelled at him to slow down in response.

But that was before.

Now, you don't.

By this time you realise you have had a destination all along.

And are standing outside it now.

His office.

It's the same.

As you walk in you are hit by the scent of him.

Strong.

Masculine.

Your heart flutters. The shirt you stole from him the night you left lost his scent weeks ago. You missed it.

You know he is standing behind you.

He hasn't said a word.

Hasn't made a sound.

But the air is cracking with his presence.

You turn slowly, eyes down, unsure.

His left shoelace is coming undone. You wonder if he notices.

His feet are moving towards you now. With each step his pants ride up, just a little.

But enough for you to know he is wearing odd socks.

It's endearing, in an odd sort of way.

He has told you from day one he has been able to dress himself since the age of 3.

You wonder when he stopped.

You don't ask… you suspect it's not that he can't dress himself, it's that he doesn't see the point.

Nothing seems all that important when you're a shell; living as one for the past 20 years has taught you that much.

His feet have stopped moving now; he's a step away from you.

You gather as much courage as you can, and bring your head up.

As his mouth falls on yours, hard, needing, you wonder why you were afraid of this moment.

He is mumbling something against your lips.

It takes you a minute to work out it's your name.

His hands are on you now, hair and lower back, bringing you closer and closer still to his warmth.

The need of oxygen finally breaks you apart, but his fierce embrace does not lessen.

You cling to him.

Needing goes both ways, after all.

END