The water ran hotter than necessary, her skin flushing an angry red under the pounding spray. She'd been standing there for a while, as evidenced by the dense steam that filled the room. The subtle sting of the shower grounded her head, took away the edge. She did this almost every night – it had become a compulsion of sorts. And she knew why she did it, despite the excuses she made during the day. Here, though, all her defenses dropped.

She could handle the burn of the shower, because it was preferable to the burn of her body, to the burning inside her memory. She vigorously scrubbed her skin, wanting to erase the feeling of caresses and kisses. But she couldn't scrub inside her mind, couldn't forget that one night she had with him nearly a month ago. Damn it all if she didn't try, though. Anything short of a targeted Obliviate.

The burn distracted her from her thoughts as well. Otherwise she would be analyzing and overanalyzing every minute she spent in his presence, stealing looks when he wasn't looking, and finding excuses to speak to him, just to hear him reply. It was the only way he would speak to her at all these days, and hell would freeze before he looked at her again. She viciously wished to look into his eyes, but then she might kiss him again. They both knew it couldn't happen. Their careful dynamic had changed, somehow, and she mourned it.

Her hand inched the knob further into the red.


The water was freezing. He grit his teeth against the cold, ignoring the way his skin prickled with gooseflesh. He hadn't been there long, but he would wait. The sharp shock of cold took away the edge – and the responses of his body. He had taken to these showers two, sometimes three times a day. He knew why he needed them, too, when his stubbornness faded to weariness and he admitted his vice.

He dealt with the ice water, because it forced his body to slow and it was preferable to the ever-present burning under his skin. He stood under the water, palms flat against the wall and head down, wanting the memories to run down the drain. They never did, though. Not for lack of trying, of course. He was this close to paying for a targeted Obliviate. Anything to erase the recollections of her body.

The cold distracted him, so that he didn't have to think about her. He saw her gazing at him, sometimes, when she thought he wasn't looking. The fact that he was an ex-spy had apparently slipped her mind somewhere along the way. He answered her when she asked a question, but he couldn't speak to her outside of the academic parameters – he would say something stupid. Like how much he'd like to kiss her again. He didn't look at her either, or he'd do something equally as stupid – like actually kiss her again. Their tentative friendship would never be the same again. He hated it.

His hand pushed the knob further into the blue.


AN: Just a little drabbling after all the enthusiasm from the original chapter. Will there be more to come? …It's quite possible. Maybe if I got some reviews….