"i stayed in the darkness with you"

by: singyourmelody

A/N: Song lyrics are from Florence and the Machine's "Cosmic Love." So I started out to continue my Aaron Stone story "Still Here Hoping One Day You May Come Back" and this is what I ended up with. It's not even in the same category! Oops. As always, I don't own any characters.

i took the stars from our eyes, and then i made a map
and knew that somehow i could find my way back
then i heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
so i stayed in the darkness with you

He was sixteen years old when he met her for the first time. The one girl who didn't fall in love with him.

And there was Hatred. Passion. Destruction. Love. All extremes.

But that's what they were. Extremes. Passion personified. A passion that consumes. But consumption doesn't come without a price.

It's in the definition of the word really. It implies that when it's over, the object being consumed is no more. A fragile shell left. Hollow.

She couldn't fall in love with him. Not really. Because even at sixteen, she knew. She knew what was attractive about her to him in the first place.

The lure of the unavailable. Knowing you want something but that you can't have it. Wanting, wanting, WANTING, until you get it. And you see what you were missing.

And realize that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't what you always wanted it to be.

Or maybe it was.

Their first kiss goes something like this:

"Why do you keep doing this?"

"Why do I? Pot, meet kettle."

"Oh come on. We keep going round and round and frankly, I'm a little sick of it."

"Well then man up. Do something about it."

"Man up? Man up? You're the man here. If I can even call you that."

"Ooh, you wound me."

"Just telling it like it is. At least one of us is being honest."

"Hmm. You want honesty. Then here it is: you drive me crazy. All the time. No matter what."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Okay, I will."

"Okay."

"95% of the time when you talk I want to kiss you to shut you up."

Pause. And then four whispered words. "Well then man up."

So he did. And her shirt might have been slightly askew when she was called to set and his hair was definitely not in its usually perfectly manicured place when he went home. But they both knew. This was the start.

They didn't really have a first fight. Because they were always fighting. Occasionally making out did nothing to change that.

But it was okay. It was what was supposed to happen. Because that's how they worked. A steady rhythm of kissing and arguing and losing clothing and hurling insults and, and, it just was.

Was it really a surprise then when he was caught in a compromising position with the latest Hollywood starlet?

She tried not to be surprised. After all, this was him. What did she expect? And they were never anything, by definition at least.

Sure he would wander over to her set every day. And sure sometimes she would stay up late making his favorite cookies. And sure sometimes she'd sneak him in through the front door when her mother was away on business trips. And sure he would sometimes fly in her favorite chocolate from Belgium. But it was just random events. Little things of no consequence.

But she was surprised when he showed up at her door the day after the story hit the tabloids. And actually looking remorseful? Like a scolded puppy showing up for its punishment. She let him in and he sat on her couch, without as much as a comment on her poor taste in furniture.

She didn't say anything. And they sat in silence.

"I didn't mean it you know. Any of it."

"I know. But you don't owe me anything."

"But don't you get it? I want to."

She looked into his sometimes sparkly eyes.

"Are you sure? I don't do things halfway."

"I know."

"I'm not sure you do."

"Why can't you ever believe me?"

"Because you're you. Do I really need more of a reason than that?"

He sighed. "No I guess not. I'm not going to beg."

"I'd never ask you to."

"So. . ."

"So, I'm not her."

"Who, Svetlana? I know. . ."

"No, her. This version of me that you have built up in your head."

"What are you –?"

"I sleep with my retainer in and I have tan lines and I won't give you your way most of the time and, and. . . "

"And that's the version of you that's in my head. What'd you think that I thought you were? Some sort of princess? Please, that image flew out of my head the first time I saw you in the cafeteria lady costume."

"Oh, and like you're so perfect."

"Never said I was."

She stared at him for a long moment.

"Well alright then."

"Alright."

She'd never thought that that big scary word COMMITMENT would suit him. But trying it on and taking it for a spin, he looks pretty at home.

He's still a flirt. And she's still a little bit innocent. Everybody has their faults.

But it's working. Their on-set romance doesn't stay on-set for long however, and the press jumps at the chance to make them the new teen power couple.

She avoids them and makes him too. She knows it's hard for him to do so. He loves the spotlight like she loves Wisconsin, but she's starting to suspect he loves her a little bit more.

And that scares her. Because if he's becoming so attached, this boy who loves his reflection more than anything, then how deep is she? Buried, she suspects. And that's going to make the breaking up that much harder.

Only it never comes. She turns twenty one and he takes her out for drinks and she gets more than a little bit smashed, but it was her first time, so it's okay. He carries her from the car to her room and she's so grateful her mom is away for the night.

And in her drunken state she sorta begs him to stay and not just in the sleeping way.

But it'd be the first time they cross that line and he's not about to do that when she's so out of it and somewhere in her somewhat still awake conscious (those margaritas were delicious), she's so proud of him.

She sobers up and finds him asleep on the couch the next morning. And she knows. She kisses him to wake him up and he doesn't respond at first and then he does and it's everything. And she knows that too.

So she takes his hand and pulls him towards her bedroom.

Their shows get canceled. Or more accurately, the studio folds. Bad economy and all that stuff they talk about on CNN.

And just like that they are facing their first separation. She wants to move to New York. He's looking at getting behind the camera and needs to be in LA.

They are standing in his dressing room on one of the last days of shooting and there is shouting and they know people can hear them and it's loud but it's not mean. It's not harsh. It's not spiteful.

It's two people not wanting to say goodbye.

She accuses him of not wanting to be with her enough. She's been bracing for this day since they started. But somewhere along the way she began to believe it might not happen.

He's not sure what's going on in his head. But she's demanding answers now. Her future job is demanding answers. A play on Broadway. She'd be amazing.

They're both stubborn. Always have been.

And that's how she ends up lost in Times Square (it's a square for crying out loud, how hard can it be?) and how he ends up painting his new apartment walls bright yellow. Yes, he painted them himself; he tries not to think of why.

As she walks the busy New York streets she thinks back on their relationship. She thought he was going to be disappointed in her. Bored after a while. That he would realize that their years of pent up attraction were more fun than the day to day relationship trials.

But it the end it was their careers that split them up. The same careers that brought them together in the first place. Sometimes she hates irony.

She unlocks her apartment door and sets her keys down on the table and presses the blinking button on the answering machine.

"It's me. I know we agreed not to call each other for a while to make this whole thing easier, but the thing is, the thing is that I don't want to make it easier. I'd rather fight with you every day across the country than not talk to you at all. And I know you're probably thinking that I'm just lonely and that's true. I haven't been on my own in what, five years now? No, four? Whatever, anyway, I am lonely, but it's more than that. I love you. I know we've got some unspoken rule where we don't say that to each other and I'm not actually even sure why, but I'm realizing as I'm sitting in my brand new apartment that I hate it here. I hate it. I'm here starting what's supposed to be this amazing new stage of my life and I hate it. . . I can almost hear you now, saying 'Well if you hate it so much, then do something about it. Man up.' And I am. My suitcase is packed and my ticket is purchased and I'm coming your way, as long as you'll have me."

The machine cuts off and she grabs her purse and doesn't even bother to turn off the lights. She sends him a quick text and hails a cab (she finally has nailed that down).

"Where to?" the cabbie asks.

She looks at her incoming message. "JFK, please."

Their 1,842nd kiss goes something like this:

"I do."

"You do? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Well then I do too."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm always sure."

Somewhere behind them a man clears his throat. They turn and look at the justice of the peace.

"Um, young man, you can kiss your bride."

"Well alright then. Now this marriage stuff starts getting good," he says, gently touching her face.

There's still kissing and arguing and losing clothes and hurling insults and, and it just is.

A/N: Another end. I kinda like this one. It's kinda weird but I like it. Please let me know what you think!