Note-- This is my first CSI NY story and I hope it doesn't suck. Let me know

Disclaimer-- I don't own the characters, though I wouldn't complain if someone handed over Flack.

It'd been going on for months, but she always left. In the dark of the night, when the passion was past she gathered her clothes and slipped away. He always pretended to be asleep, though he certainly wasn't laboring under the delusion that she believed the ruse. It was almost as if there was an unspoken agreement between them, that they would take what they needed and leave it at that. Little did she know that he wanted more; so much more.

Of course, there was a lot she didn't know. She didn't realize that over the years he'd begun to hope that they'd be on the same case. She didn't know that one of her pointed looks could make his heart jump or his mind change. She didn't know just how much it had pained him to question her and listen to the horrifying story. She didn't know that it made his heart ache every time he thought about what she'd been forced to do.

She didn't know that every time he saw her he itched to reach out and wrap one of her curls around his fingers. She didn't know that when they fought his anger was only real half of the time; the other half he forced to cover up the want he felt for her when she got her back up and her eyes flashed. She didn't know that sometimes just the sight of her could make his day. She didn't know that he had fallen in love with her; and he would never let her know, not until the day came when she stayed.

She always left him. While he pretended to sleep she slipped away, clothes in hand. They didn't talk about it, they wouldn't. But he didn't know her reasons.

Though he wouldn't have agreed, there was much he didn't know. He didn't know that she grinned every time she found out they'd be working together. He didn't realize that the first time she saw him she'd had a hard time tearing her eyes away. He didn't know that whenever she left him she lingered at the door, watching him. He didn't realize the full extent of the worry and fear she'd felt when she heard of how badly he'd been injured in the blast. He didn't know how she still felt the white hot panic rise when she thought back on it.

He didn't know that before he'd cut his hair she'd always had to fight back the urge to reach out and brush it from his forehead. He didn't know that those intensely blue eyes of his had the power to wound, the power to make her heart ache. He didn't know that his eyes told her everything. He didn't know that she knew how he felt. He didn't know that she always left because she was terrified of what she felt for him, terrified that she would fall too.

It would only take one night to change it all, one night when she didn't run away from the enormity of the feeling and when he refused to pretend. They both waited breathless for the day, both expected something explosive. When the day came it just slid over them. One night she lingered in his arms and he gave into the never ceasing desire to tangle his fingers in her curls. She lay in his arms, her head against the warmth of his chest and her breath in sync with the beat of his heart, and she didn't want to leave.

He smiled as she drowsed in his arms. "Stella?"

She sighed and nuzzled against him. "Yeah?"

"You're not leaving?"

She looked up and met the full weight of his electric gaze. "What if I told you I want to stay?"

"I'd say that says a lot."

"Yeah," She settled back against him. "It does."

Don closed his eyes. Tomorrow, perhaps, they would talk about everything. Maybe tomorrow he would finally know how she loved his expressive eyes and the feel of his hands against her skin; maybe she would learn how much he always longed to touch her and how there wasn't a minute when he didn't want her in his life. Maybe tomorrow he would finally say those three little words that could change their entire world. For the night he was content knowing that he'd wake up in the morning with her in his arms.