A/N: This is an interlude separate from but in the same universe as Rewrite This Tragedy. One need not have read RTT to read this, but when I do post the epilogue to RTT, it will make mention of some points from this piece.

Based upon a dream.

~ejb~

By the time she leaves the hospital, she has been on the clock for seventeen hours. With the junior doctors on strike they are absurdly short of staff and the strain is felt from the top down. Twice today she had to tell nurses to cancel their evening plans; they were staying on until eleven. Three times irate patients expecting to be discharged had called on her after being told by one of her underlings that they were farther down in the queue and would be seen to as soon as possible. There was no answer she could give that was any more satisfactory than the one they'd already heard, and whilst she sympathized with them she began to grow weary of hearing complaints.

She steps out into the night air, and on her way to the car park she realizes she's not in any shape to drive home. Driving at night has never been her favorite; since the accident that took Matthew's life she avoids it unless it's an absolute necessity. She hesitates for a moment … she won't call Richard. His day was even longer than hers, his shift having begun at eleven the previous night. He'd not broken away until nearly six that evening and when he'd found her at the nurses' station on her floor she had kissed him goodbye and ordered him straight to bed when he arrived home.

She calls a taxi; they'll sort out the car in the morning. She gives the driver the address and curls into the seat, closing her eyes. The next thing she knows the driver is jostling her arm.

"Hmm?" She shakes her head, trying to wake up, and mutters an apology to the driver, tipping him mightily. She fumbles with the key for several moments before she gets the front door open.

She stops off in the kitchen to drop her handbag in a chair and swallows two aspirin - if she hasn't got a headache yet then one will surely crop up before morning.

Upon entering the bedroom, a small smile crosses her lips when she makes out Richard's form in their bed. She moves quietly, foregoing the light. He needs to sleep for as long as his body will let him, and she can feel her way in the dark. She begins to undress, dropping her clothes in an untidy heap on the floor. Normally this would irk her to no end, but now it gets added to the queue: "things to sort in the morning." She is shattered enough that she nearly can't be bothered with undressing, but thoughts of cool, crisp cotton sheets against her skin and Richard's warm, solid body beside her spur her on.

oOoOo

He knew the moment she walked into the room. She was quiet as a mouse as she moved about, but he thinks he must have heard the snick of the door as it closed behind her. It doesn't matter; she is here now. Her back is toward him and he sees her in silhouette thanks to the sliver of outdoor light that peeks through the curtains. He watches as she crosses her arms in front of her body, lifting the hem of her scrub top. He nearly laughs aloud as she drops it to the floor - how unlike her! - but he doesn't want to give himself away. She turns, taking a few more steps toward the bed, and reaches behind herself. Standing as she is in the thin silver light, she throws a lovely shadow on the adjacent wall and he isn't sure what is more mesmerizing: the shape of her breasts outlined in the dim light or the profile they cast on the wall. She bends at the waist as her pants join the trail of discarded clothing and he feels a dull ache beginning to build low in his belly. The dark shape of her perfectly rounded bottom has him longing to leap out of bed and press himself against her.

She is nude now, bare but for her panties as she walks toward the bed. He closes his eyes, unwilling that she should know just yet he's been watching, and finds himself holding his breath. He feels the mattress dip, the rush of cool air against his legs as she lifts the sheet. He hears the whisper of the fabric and the deep, contented sigh that leaves her lips as she lies down. He knows what her next move will be and counts silently in his head. As he reaches three she turns on her side with her back toward him and presses in close, as closely as she can. She sighs again, so sweetly, as her skin makes contact with his and at last he can stand it no longer.

His arms come round her from behind and he presses his palms against the flat plane of her abdomen. She gasps, first in shock and then in delight. He is warm, so warm, and equally undressed as she. This is what she needs.

"Hello, beautiful girl," he rasps against her ear, nibbling the lobe. "You're home."

"Mmm," she answers as the tips of his fingers dance along her rib cage. "I'm home. Didn't mean to wake you."

She links her fingers through his as his hands settle on her hips, pulling her back against him. "You didn't, precious. I must have been waking up to turn over. Are you alright?"

She looks over her shoulder, cupping the side of his face, and kisses him. "Yes," she whispers near his lips, nodding. "Wrung out, as I'm sure you must be. You must go back to sleep, love."

When he smiles she can see the shape of it, but she feels it even more keenly. "Suppose I don't want to sleep?" comes his retort, and despite the darkness she registers the twinkle in his eye.

Turning slightly in his arms, she nips at his lower lip. "Just what is it you want then? Hmm?" She studies the contours of his face in the dark as she palms his cheek and traces the ridge of his brow with her fingertips.

"I think," he answers in a tone rife with mischief, "that I fancy a cuddle. You wouldn't want to join me, would you?"

She backs up enough that she can look into his eyes and look she does, incredulous. "I shouldn't think you could do it on your own!"

He hugs her to him, his arms wrapping her up tightly. "Didn't think to ask Psych for the loan of a straightjacket, so I'm rather at your mercy."

"Cheeky beggar," she chuckles. "I suppose you're sufficiently rested that a little of this won't hurt, hmm?" Curling into him, she grazes the tips of her fingers down his side, pressing tiny kisses along the line of his jaw until she reaches his mouth. "Oh, Richard," she sighs, "we're getting too old for this."

"This? Darling, we aren't married two years yet!" he quips as one hand travels down to grasp her bottom.

Affecting a roll of her eyes, she slaps his shoulder playfully. "You are incorrigible, love. No, not this … It's these hours we keep; the staffing issues." She pauses, catching his hand in hers and playing with his fingers. "Cases that hit a bit too close to home. Of course I can only speak for myself, but it's losing its lustre, I'm afraid."

He gathers her closer and she rests her head in the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet, her lips grazing the pulse point in his throat.

"It's not just you," he tells her, and she feels the rumble of his words where her chest presses against his. "Time was I didn't bat an eye at working thirty-six hours at a go. Now it's a good job we've tomorrow off … I'm flat on my back after eighteen."

"Yeah," she says softly, carding her fingers through his hair. "We haven't got to sort it all just now, but I'm tired, love."

He works his fingers into the knots in her neck and shoulders and she exhales in relief as he pulls the tension from her muscles. He has an idea.

"What say we spend the day up at Newton* tomorrow? It'll do you good to see the countryside. Perhaps a change of venue will help us sort what needs sorting."

Smiling, she kisses him. "Yes, let's do." Then her brow furrows. "Oh, but Richard! The car … I … I was in no condition to drive and so it's still at the hospital. I took a taxi home."

He smooths the pad of his thumb across her forehead. "No worries, darling; we'll pick it up on our way back into town. Now, is there anything else troubling you?"

"Nothing that won't look better in the morning light." She pauses, settling back into his arms. "You know, this was the thought that kept me going."

She blinks up at him and even in the darkness her eyes catch him up momentarily. He feigns ignorance. "How's that?"

Though she is wise to it, she plays along. "This. Being in your arms, in our bed … skin-to-skin."

"Anything else?" he asks, grinning.

She presses her lips to his. "Your hands on me," she murmurs when they break apart, "your kiss, your touch. I'm more myself when I'm with you like this than I am at any other time." In her fatigue she can't find all the words; in fact, she's hardly scratched the surface of all she feels.

He kisses her forehead, her cheek, her mouth. He knows. "Isobel … beauty …" He runs his fingers through her hair. "Come here."

She climbs over him and straddles his lap as he sits up against the headboard. Her breath catches. Even in the dim light his eyes are luminescent, the icy blue a startling contrast to the heat that radiates off his body in waves. Her thumbs smooth over the tiny creases around his eyes. She loves them because they make her think of all the times he must have smiled over the course of his lifetime in order to have earned them all. She wonders if perhaps she is responsible for putting a few of them there.

"I love to look at you," she whispers, a gentle smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

He grins, kissing the tip of her nose. "How can you see in this light?"

"I don't need to see to look at you, Major. I know you by heart."

He smiles and hugs her to him. "Right you are, my love."

*Newton - Richard and Isobel own a country house in Newton-on-Ouse in North Yorkshire. It will feature prominently in the epilogue to RTT.