Hi guys, this is just a quick one-shot that I had to get started on after 1x07. What did you guys think of the episode?

Anyway, as usual I don't own anything, because if I did, the episode would've ended a little something like this...

'Want' • [verb]

- to feel a need or a desire for;

- to wish, need, crave, demand, or desire;

The seconds after she knocks feel like hours, and she can actually feel sweat gathering in her palms. As the door swing opens, she doesn't exactly expect him to pull her into some kind of embrace but she didn't think he'd look so disappointed to see her. He's in his same jeans and shirt he's been wearing all day, yet he looks different to her somehow.

"Hey." 'Original' she thinks, inwardly rolling her eyes at her moronic opening. "I've got dinner." Erin lifts up her arm holding the food bag and tries to muster a smile.

"I thought we were done?" She gets his reference from earlier in the day, when she and Jay went to check out Fitori's murder site. Although there's an element of amusement to his words, his tone tells her otherwise. For a few seconds there's nothing but desolate space between them.

"I've got truffles." Slowly but surely, she sees his eyes soften, and under certain circumstances she thinks she'd maybe even get a smile. But not tonight. As he steps aside, she timidly enters the apartment that up until tonight wasn't the least bit foreign to her. She hovers nervously in the middle of the room, before carefully handing him the bag and following her silent partner to the kitchen, where he begins unpacking the food she picked up.

Making herself somewhat comfortable on the stool opposite his, Erin accepts her portion of food and respectfully digs in, her appetite at its peak for the day. For several minutes, the only audible sound is that of fork's teeth scraping plates and the soft chewing from both detectives. Every so often Erin feels Jay's gaze, and it unnerves her. There's a different energy between them and it's almost painful.

She's not sure why she even came over - it just felt like the natural thing to do. What she'd said to Jay later on in the day, "we should probably just keep it professional, right?", didn't even feel like her words. And the minute she said them, she felt a shift between them.

"Justin... He joined the army." She's not really sure why she tells him that either. Maybe she just needed something to fill the silence. "Voight dropped him off a couple hours ago." She finally eyes her partner for what feels like the first time in forever, and all he can do is raise his eyebrows. "I just... I just want you to know that Voight's not a bad guy. I know you don't trust him, and I get it, but you should know that today was never about letting Justin off the hook. It was about protecting him."

"I get it." He drops his fork and nods slowly. His understanding is all she wanted. "This whole... You and me thing. Is it about Voight?"

"No," She tells him softly, her eyes begging for him to believe her. "I just..." Once again, she can't find the right words. It's like every word in the universe is laid out for her except the ones she needs. She wants him to know that she's not using him. That she understands how unfair it is for her to be so hot and cold: first creating some bet as a futile attempt at a date scenario, then revoking it all at the last minute and pushing him away. She needs him to know that Voight had a rough day, and at the sense he was already catching on to their innocent flirting, she didn't think he needed another thing to deal with.

"I got scared." It doesn't even begin to convey the extent of her feelings, but she hopes it's a start.

"Me too." It's the last thing she expected. And as the ceiling light burns of her facade she feels even more exposed to him than usual, her flaws laid out for him. Her eyes travel to his motionless hand, laid out next to his glass. Nervously twitching her fingers in her lap, she raises the courage to snake her hand to his. Erin feels that wash of panic and the goosebumps lacing her spine - the feeling that what she's doing is so right that it has to be wrong. The way the pad of her calloused thumb traces circles over his knuckle is almost hypnotic, releasing endorphins and hormones all urging her body to will its way to his.

"I don't want to lose you." She's not brave enough to look him in the eye because she knows her body will simply melt under his burning gaze, reducing her to pure feelings that don't make sense to her. Her reasoning for pushing him away was the love for her job, her unit, her city. But with his skin pressed palm-to-palm with hers and his cologne intoxicating her, she comes to the realisation that Jay Halstead is the reason she loves being a detective.

"You won't." She wants more than two gruff words as a reply; she wants him to confess it all to her. She wants him to stand up and tell her why keeping it professional is so difficult for them. She needs him to tell her how he feels.

His sad smile makes her want to explain more, to somehow find the words that will take them back to the morning when they had all the possibly in the world. And although she's kicked herself countless time for speaking rashly, she just can't find the words to tell him that what she said and did was simply human nature. Because humans have this crazy notion of letting fear of losing what they have take over what could be.

She subconsciously pressures a pump into the warmth of his hand and her heart skips a necessary beat when he returns the action, as though he understood everything she was trying to tell him.

"One day." It's almost inaudible as he mumbles it to himself, but she catches it. And the absence of the 'maybe' is not lost on her, because it's how everything between them always feels: inevitable.

"Definitely."

With empty plates and an empty heart, she takes it as her queue to leave. As her hand abandons his, cold chills wash over her and she subconsciously aches for the warmth of his skin, any attempt at touching or looking to set her soul on fire and show her what if feels like. The effort it takes to pull herself from the stool is almost unexplainable, but its necessary if she wants to keep it professional. What if she's not sure she does, though?

The walk from the kitchen to the door is excruciatingly long, and as he walks her there she feels the clock ticking away. Tick, tick, tick. The door swings open and she turns to say goodbye, but she's greeted by a new found intensity in his eyes, and wonders whether he feels the change between them, too. They stay like that for neither know how long; nothing but the willing of their bodies and the distant hum of Chicago's streets.

As she softly exhales, she feels the intense exhaustion set upon her; it's exhausting pushing him away. It's exhausting to not look at him every five minutes. It's exhausting not to seize the moment and kiss him like her life depends on it. It's exhausting to fight against the universe when all she wants to do is hold him close and smell his skin and breathe him in.

Her mind gooey and fried, she barely notices as he takes a step closer, but the fierce swing of the door closing definitely captures her attention. The playfulness in his eyes returns, but his hard expression is yet to soften. She accepts the challenge.

Her actions are thick with wary and caution, knowing they're on dangerous territory. Her eyes search his for regret or hindrance as she slides her leather jacket from her shoulders, holding it for a few seconds before tossing behind him to his couch. As he backs her against the door-frame she's struck by the realisation that this is probably the longest time they've been in each other's presence without speaking. But there's no need for words.

Her body shivers against the cool surface behind her, and as a strip of Chicago moonlight invades the room and cascades across his face; she can see the hurt still remaining. She hopes he still sees the scars she bears and how somehow, just maybe, finding each other will help them find themselves. She feels the graze of his hand across her waist and back, supporting her as his body rounds in, sucking the air from between them. The heat from his body radiates to her, almost melting her body into his.

"You sure you want to do this?"

"Oh, definitely." She rasps almost inaudibly, his forehead close to resting on hers.

With one swift move his lips attack hers in the most beautiful sense, finding the pattern that makes her go weak in the knees and cling to him for dear life, which she does. While one of her hands snakes round the nape of his neck and the other fists at his shirt, pulling him closer, she feels his breath inflate her lungs and his lips tease her to reveal all the thoughts swimming in her busy mind.

And while his stubble grazes and itches her skin, the pressure of his lips is addictive. And while her mind's a storm, he's her calm. And while they're partners and this is something she's tried fighting so hard to avoid, she can feel her heart slowly beat back to its normal rhythm as it's racing with his.

And despite the fact he holds her exactly where she needs to be, she can slowly but surely feel herself falling for him.

I've had a few ideas for one-shots while I'm waiting for inspiration for my other fic, 'So Easy', so tell me what you think? Reviews and favourites are appreciated!xo