So this has been bouncing around my head for a while. I'm looking forward to exploring the what-ifs further in this story :)

It's been a rough few days. A rough few months, she thinks bitterly. She chuckles. Reade would definitely say "rough" is an understatement. For once, she wouldn't argue over his fondness for semantics. Ever since they found Jane naked in Times Square, the team has been to hell and back. Or, more accurately, in a hellish purgatory they couldn't escape-still can't escape. Yes, she enjoys the thrill and she misses the tattoo cases when they aren't there, but it's because of the people she works with and what they can accomplish together. It's more meaningful than a random counterfeiting lead. The near death stuff, though, that she could definitely do without. Especially when it has to do with Reade.

"You should put your leg up," she says, moving easily around the apartment she's so familiar with. She's antsy, and he can see that.

"You need to quit fussing over me," Reade says, a bit of exasperation present in his voice. It really has more to do with her being nervous and him wanting to calm her down than actual annoyance, but he doesn't know if she'll take it that way. "I'm okay."

"Hey, macho man," she says, dropping a decorative pillow on his coffee table, "put your leg up."

Rolling his eyes, he teases, "You would've made a hell of a nurse."

She chuckles, and it's music to his ears. He wishes he could keep her feeling like that, smiling, laughing, but when is it ever that easy?

His wayward thoughts, however, are interrupted by her quiet question. "You hungry?"

"I can make my own Cup O' Noodles."

"Okay," she says and he knows she's feeling a bit exasperated with him, too. But it doesn't stop there. "Will you just-" she starts and it reminds him of how cute it is when she's tripping over her words, but covering it well. "-Relax. Put your leg up, please."

And he can't help it. Her face coming closer as she gets up in his space, trying to convince him. Her warm hand on his chest. Her smile, her gentle urgings. How much she cares. Before he knows what he's doing, he's leaning closer. He's been fighting this for so long, convinced of it ruining their friendship, but he's tired. He's tired of running. He's tired of hiding.

He kisses her softly, tenderly, and it feels so good, so meant to be, that he almost pulls back to slap himself upside the head. Since when is he this guy? This sappy guy who looks at his best friend like she hangs all the stars in the sky? And, yet, he doesn't. He can't bring himself to ruin this moment. He's glad they never kissed undercover because he doesn't think this moment would be nearly are gratifying if they had.

After what seems like no time at all, he pulls back. He needs to see her face. He's hoping for something, anything, but all he gets is a blank stare. Her eyes are carefully guarded and suddenly he's unsure if he's misread everything up until this point. He can always read her eyes…

"What are you doing?"

"What's it look like?" he asks, hurt.

"You're my best friend." She's pulling away and he jumps to calm her down. A running Tasha is a scared Tasha.

"Exactly." He tries to lean forward, wincing at how she maintains her distance. "You know me better than anyone else. It-it makes sense, Tasha," he tries.

He watches as she struggles for words. She avoids his gaze, focusing instead on her whirling thoughts. It's all too much. Finally, she meets his eyes once more. "We're friends." She lifts her head, trying to appear more confident than she is. "That's all."

Tasha watches as his face, usually so good at containing all emotions, betrays his hurt. When he starts to nod and meet her eyes and his lips keep parting in that telltale way, she knows she needs to get out of there, and fast. "I'm gonna go." She gets up and walks to the door, somewhat in a trance. How did this happen? She shakes her head. There's too much to process right now.

However, her walking away seems to snap him into action. "No, don't." He's quick to block the door, moving faster than she is.

"I think it's best-"

He shakes his head. "No, it's not best. Stop thinking you always know what's best."

She nearly growls then. "Excuse me, but I know what's best for me and how I'm feeling."

He rolls his eyes. "You know that's not what I meant." He leans back against the door. "Talk to me, Tash. What's going on in your head?"

She huffs. "Don't Tash me."

"You're my best friend. I think I can call you by your name."

She leans closer, hitting him on the shoulder, hard. "I'm leaving."

"No." Reade stands firm. "Not until we talk about this."

She looks up at the ceiling, willing her thoughts to clear and her eyes to stay dry. When it looks like she isn't going to get her wish, she decides on an alternative route. "You're one to talk," she scoffs. "When do you ever want to talk?"

"Tasha-"

"No, but now that you want to talk, I'm forced to?" She crosses her arms over her chest-a defense mechanism if he's ever seen one-and continues on her rant. "I'm not the one who decided to mess things up."

"Mess things up?" His words sound broken, dejected even, and she wills herself to stay focused. If she can make him angry, he'll let her leave, and this will all just be a bad dream. They can be friends again, best friends, tomorrow morning. So she simply nods. "Mess things up?" he repeats. He takes a step closer to her, noticing she doesn't move back. "I didn't mess up. I want more, Tasha."

She shivers as he says her name for the third time in so many minutes. "Reade-"

"No, let me finish." He's stern, and she quickly quiets. "I like you, a lot. I wasn't lying in the hospital earlier. And I wasn't just saying it as a friend." He carefully avoids the word that wants to roll off the tip of his tongue. He doesn't need to freak her out more.

"You're on painkillers," she justifies. She still doesn't meet his eyes.

He shakes his head, galled at her response. Does she really not know how long he's cared for her? He gently places his hands on her upper arms, holding them steady as she tries to shake them off. "This isn't the painkillers talking."

"You don't know that." She doesn't know why she even gave him that ammo. Where is the fight?

"Yes, I do." He leads her over to the couch, coaxing her to sit down once more. Not knowing what other option she has, she allows it. It's like the fight flew out of her in a matter of seconds. Sitting down next to her, he continues. "This isn't something new. I mean, the painkillers might have finally gotten me to make a move," he jokes as she lightly hits his shoulder. He takes it as the good sign it is. "But," he picks up, "I'm not trying to kiss you and run."

She takes a shuddering breath before slumping completely, curling into herself. As much as he wants to take her in his arms, to comfort her, he knows she doesn't want that right now and he can't force it. "I want you in my life." Another breath. "Forever."

"And I will be-"

"-No you won't. Not if we don't stay friends."

"You," he says, using his nimble fingers to lift up her chin, willing her to meet his eyes, "are my best friend. And you will be always be my best friend." Her eyes look so worried, so vulnerable, that the words continue to pour out of his mouth without filter. "And you're not going to just stop being my best friend if we try something more. We'll probably be even better friends," he says with a tiny chuckle. "And even if we don't work out, which I think it highly unlikely," he adds with a grin, "I'm never going to stop being your friend. Period."

She lets out a breath, much like the breath she let out when he told her he loved her a few days before. "Since when are you such a romantic?" she teases.

He shrugs. "Hm, I was wrong. We aren't going to work because it's always something." He sighs at her teasing, but the smile on his face shows her he's joking. She can't help but laugh with him. He's right: they won't stop being friends unless they let it happen and she for one is not going to do that.

"You can't run all your life, Tasha," he says, pulling her from her thoughts. "I know you seem to pride yourself on being single, but I wish you would give it a shot with me."

She takes a wavering breath, leaning her cheek into his palm. She knows he is right. She knows that as much as she tries to tell herself that she's single by choice and has it down to a science, she doesn't really want it. She just doesn't want to get hurt.

As if he read her mind, Reade says, "I can't promise I won't hurt you," her eyes snap up to meet his at those words, startled at how well he knows her, "because sometimes we hurt the people we care about most. But I'll try not to. And, if I do, you have permission to kick my ass." He laughs with her. "Not that you need an invitation." Her smile only grows.

She licks her lips, trying to formulate what she wants to say and how she wants to say it. In the end, all she can manage is a whispered, "I'm scared."

His heart breaks at her confession. She is hardly one to show weakness, yet here she is, letting him in a little at a time. "I know. I'm scared too." She looks into his eyes again. "But are we really going to live our whole lives scared of what could happen?"

"I guess not."

"I mean, we almost die on the job nearly every day." She pulls away, nodding in exasperation. "I think we can handle a relationship."

She chuckles. "Point taken." She runs her tongue over her teeth. They sit in silence for another minute, then another, and then another, before she finally looks up at him from under her full lashes. "Can you try that again?"

His eyebrows furrow in confusion. "What?"

She leans forward, her breath tickling his lips. "Can you try that again, what you did before?"

He smiles, leaning up to capture her lips with his. It's soft and tender and she can't help but grin against his mouth before he pushes his way in. She allows him to deepen the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Finally letting herself kiss him back and feel all the amazing things she pushed away the first time.

In turn, he wraps his arms around her toned waist, loving the connection. Although new, there feels to be a security this time around-he's not worried about her pulling away anymore.

They continue like this, exploring each other's mouths languidly for several minutes, only coming up for air, grinning when their eyes meet every so often. After a while, Reade moves a little further, rubbing his hands up and down her arms, then over her waist. Her hands grip his biceps tighter when he moves to kiss down her neck, letting out a ragged breath.

When their eyes meet again, both breathing heavily, red in the face with undisguised arousal, they lean back from their embrace ever so slightly. They catch their breaths, knowing that they don't want to move too fast, not yet anyway. "I should head home," Tasha says when she finally feels like her legs won't turn to jelly if she tries to stand.

He nods. "See you tomorrow?"

She grins. "Yeah, see you tomorrow."

And this time? This time he knows she's not running. This time, she's leaving the door open for tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. This time, they are fighting.

Because survival is insufficient, as the saying goes. And not trying? Avoiding love and being vulnerable and taking chances and choosing to be together? That's surviving. But taking that leap? Finding each other? Being open to love? Now that's living.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, leave a comment and let me know!