This fanfiction is based on teh BBC 2006 version of Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre. It's the bit where Jane has just saved Mr Rochester from burning to death and he sends her to her room after thanking her. If you've read the book or seen the dramatisation (or both) that will make perfect sense. If not, read it anyway, cause it's a good portion of fluff. In fact read Jane Eyre, if you haven't anyway. It rocks. ;)

Okay, these characters don't belong to me at all, niether does the scene or anything else. Please do not sue me for infringement etc, cause... Non intended.

This fic is part one of a little series thing I have going. Probably will do a Rochester POV soon, as this is almost entirely Jane POV. I'm also going to be writing another Jane Eyre fic 'Fallen From Grace' (that is not a reference to Grace Pool, people, lol) where Jane marries Rochester before she finds out he already has a wife. She becomes pregnant, then realises her marriage is void. She runs from Thornfeild much like in the book. Anyway, that will be coming soon!

Lots of hugs and thanks to my wonderful beta BelleEve (she's really wonderful!) whom I shall be dedicating this piece to. Cheers Belle!

Is that done now? Yes? Good! Now you can get on with reading it. Enjoy, and please R&R.

'You're going without saying goodnight?'

Jane looked bewilderedly at him, searching for his eyes in the wreath of shadow that fell over his face as the fire flickered. Two points of light danced and she saw the grim set of his mouth soften slightly. She stood awkwardly by the door, the numbing cold seeping into her bones.

Why on Earth is the room so cold?

The pitiful fire crackled in the silence. The eternity it took for her to turn and face him filled the small room.

'Jane, you just…' He paused, the words soft as they echoed a little. 'You just saved my life.' He gestured towards the ruined bed, the scorched linen and velvet - a damp, sodden mess. The fire of minutes before was dead and as good as forgotten, yet she still lingered here, in his presence. He had no need of her; she had saved him, yes, but it was what any normal, warm-blooded person would have done, given the circumstances.

Jane watched as he stepped forwards deliberately, his shadowed form making the solitary candle, still standing on the table, waver and sputter.

'We might at least shake hands.'

He lifted his right hand in to the air, inviting her to step once again into the warmth of the inner room, the warmth of his presence. She hesitated. The time of night was very prominent in her mind, and the very fact that she was in her employer's room, dressed as she was, made her nervous.

But his hand was even now outstretched; the palm empty, and the gratitude in his deep eyes drew her. Silently, she came forwards; laying her small, cold hand onto his large, warm fingers. He grasped it gently, his other hand came to surround her own, chafing the skin to stimulate heat. He glanced down at their hands, entwined, and smirked a little.

'I knew you'd do me good, first time I met you.'

Jane suppressed a smirk of her own, as the first time he had met her he had outright called her a witch. All alone, the mist clouding her view of that bitter, strange man. And now, to be standing here with that same man, her fingers curled tightly with his, as though they could not be parted for the world. How ironic life can be, she mused.

'I knew I wouldn't mind being in your debt.' He took another step towards her, rapidly closing the slim distance. The heat from his body and the fire were quickly burning her cheeks and her hand was no longer numb, but quite warm. Her breathing became shallow and she thought of a million reasons for it, neglecting the only one that made sense to her. That it was the man in front of her, so firmly holding her hand, who made her panic. Mr Rochester came to stand squarely in front on her, towering above her form, yet she did not look up.

She breathed out, slightly shakily, and tried to reply, tried to lighten the mood, because the intense burning in his eyes began to seep into his words. His gruff mutter seemed to hide so much more, and Jane was scared of whatever she thought it meant. Wanted it to mean.

'There is no debt, sir.' But the mood did not lift, it remained sombre and suffocating. What was that in his eyes? She could not tell, the darkness hid so much. Were those the flames from the fire reflected in his eyes, or did he betray a deeper flame within his heart? Jane met his eyes fully now, and almost gasped. He was no more than inches away. She tried again, but her words came out quietly, her shaky breaths and beating heart nearly deafening to her ears.

'There is no debt, sir.' Her voice wavered. Jane tried to calm her pounding heart by taking another deep breath, and her voice regained a little of its earlier steel.

'I am glad I happened to be awake.' There, much better. The mood seemed to lessen, but Mr Rochester did not let her go. His rough hands smoothed her own but did not loosen their hold.

At her words he smiled, a breathless sigh escaping his lips, hitching in his throat.

'She saves me from an inferno and she's glad she happened to be awake.'

Yes, a definite smile now.

The rawness in his tone brushed against Jane's resolution, and she feared if she remained she might do something… stupid. Her nightgown was terribly thin and the cold clung to her and she could feel how warm he was, and how soft his hands were, and how hot his breath was against her cheek…

I must not stay!

She tried to slip her hand from his but his grip tightened and drew her closer.

'And still she tries to go.' He wouldn't remove his hands… She was trapped. Her cheeks flushed. She ducked her head, trying to hide her blush, and looked down at their hands, slightly mesmerised by his fingers sweeping over hers. They were just holding hands… Why did such slight contact make her shiver?

'I'm cold, sir,' she lied, because she was no longer numb. She was sure he would notice the heat from her face or her rapid breathing but apparently he did not.

He did not look up; he just kept stroking her fingers, his face in deepest shadow, so Jane could not make out his features.

'Of course,' he murmured, almost trance-like. He didn't move.

'Of course.' He released her hands at last and turned to the armchair by the fire. All warmth had seemed to gather around the man before her. She did not want to stray from him. As he leaned away, all heat left with him, and Jane felt quite bereft. He gathered up his thick heavy cloak and, letting it spread between his hands, wrapped it around her small shoulders. He stepped closer still, his rising chest grazing her own body as he settled the garment over her, his arms reaching around her to smooth the material.

'And we agreed you'd never be cold again…' Surely such an innocent sentence could not be said with more insinuation, she thought in disbelief. Surely he did not mean…? Such affection in his voice… It wasn't completely meant…

The sudden weight and heat made Jane inwardly gasp. He was a mere inch from her face, his warm breath stirring the tiny hairs on her forehead. Her perseverance was swiftly dissolving into nothing, and Jane's legs felt weak. He was so close… So warm…

His haggard breathing was obvious to her now she was pressed against his chest. She could distinctly feel the rise and fall of each breath, the tension in every muscle, the flames in his eyes were not reflected.

Oh God…

Jane could not breathe! Each second lasted a lifetime of exquisite agony, wave after wave of a strange alien feeling washed over her, creating apprehension and tension. She was positioned directly in front of her master, sure that every thought running through her head was heard by him, every last feeling and straying emotion caught and examined by him. Her employer!

She could feel the warmth from his bare neck, his throat exposed, and she dared not look up into those dark eyes of his, lest she be dragged towards them.

She followed his throat to his collar, desperate for distraction. His shirt was open some what, reminding her of his fully naked chest of minutes before. There was no escape…

She looked up - foolishly, she thought - into his face. She would have taken a step backwards, had she not been so soundly captured. Fear, panic and excitement made her body weaken. It seemed she could not stop her head lifting, ever so slightly; her mouth was barely any distance at all from his…

His own head descended, the smallest measure, and she could feel his exhale upon her mouth. A million thoughts crowded her mind, pounding against her ears, roaring in her mind, but they made no sense.

Return to her room? Why would she want to do that? Everything she wanted was here…

Break apart! Retreat, Jane Eyre! You foolish girl!

Sense at last! She hesitated. She was in no position to kiss her master. She, the governess, could not do such a thing. She would not. She controlled her own mind and no feeling or emotion would push her to do something she would long regret. She could not kiss him, much as she strained to close the distance, she would not. Even as she imagined the gentle pressure and heat from those waiting lips, she mustn't. She looked away.

Mr Rochester seemed to come to his senses also. He paused, and seemed to survey Jane's countenance, watch as her determination prevailed over her passion. His hold on her lessened.

'Well, if you must leave me…' His whisper broke their intimacy, and the moment was gone. Jane almost sighed in relief and disappointment.

I mustn't…

Mr Rochester's face became guarded once again, and Jane felt a fleeting regret. What would have happened? Was all changed between them now?

His expression assured her that things were not destroyed between them, but that their earlier friendship was indeed disturbed.

'…You must.' His arms fell away and Jane could break away and breathe again.

She did not know how she gathered the courage to turn away. She felt his swift fingers fall upon her arm, so she looked up at him again. He gestured to his cloak with a grin that did not reach his eyes and Jane shrugged the vast cloth from her shoulders, handing it back to him. She took up her candle once more and somehow made her way to her room. She would admit it to no one, but upon getting into bed, she clasped her hand to her heart, kissing the warmed skin again and again.

The last shared glance between them had been a silent farewell, but Mr Rochester's eyes had softened and Jane felt a change in his stance.

No, their friendship had not been ruined. Perhaps, if Jane had been curious enough to allow him to close the distance, their relationship would have ended right there. Or it might not have. For the present, things looked strange and warped. Jane's mind was sore from questions, but she kept her secret smile upon her lips as she slid into a dreamless sleep. Maybe tomorrow everything would be different. Or it would be the same. For now, Jane did not care.

Again, thank you very much for reading, and please R&R! (You'll make me very, very happy if you do)