Jim saw her right away from across the room, unmistakably Mac. She wore jeans and an oversized olive drab T shirt, and she was bent over a duffel, pulling out cables and a tripod as she obviously searched for something. She glanced up at about the same time he took his first step towards her.

"Jim—Jim? Jimmy? Is that you?" A smile of surprise and pure pleasure lit her face. "Jim! What are you doing here?" She flew into his arms, hugging him with considerable strength.

"Mac. It's great to see you." He pulled away from the embrace and studied her face.

"Well? How do I look? Do I pass inspection?" she laughed.

"You look like you can still kick my ass." In truth, he thought she looked thinner, if possible, than when he'd last seen her.

"I can. Don't you forget it." She laughed again. "Jim, I can't believe it. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you." He paused. "Mac, I'm not alone."

"Oh? Bring the Marines, did you?"

His sober expression began to play havoc with her light tone.

"I'm here with Will."

"Will? You brought him here—here? First off, what in God's name were you thinking? Do you know how dangerous—"

"He would have come without me—"

"He's a fool. You never used to be."

"Neither did you," he returned. "Mac, when did you start believing that you could convince me you're here because you want to be? That this is anything but the last choice for you? That this isn't fucking déjà vu all over again?"

She said nothing and he softened his tone.

"Mac, you shouldn't be here. There's something absurd—"

"It isn't absurd to have a place—"

"You had one."

"And it worked out so well for me."

He looked around the room with mild disapproval. "They're paying you what you're worth?"

She gave a short laugh. "No one is ever paid what they're worth, Jimmy, you know that. But they're giving me a stipend for expenses, and—"

"A stipend. They're treating you like an intern."

"It's okay. It doesn't bother me," she said, pronouncing each syllable distinctly and slowly for possible penetration.

"It bothers me."

"Well." Humor faded from her expression. She swallowed. "Is he here now?"

Jim inclined his head toward the door.

Involuntarily, she retreated an inch.

"You're here on a story—"

"We're here looking for you. There's been a little reporting along the way, but barely enough to keep Will's name and face on ACN, and nowhere near enough to justify this odyssey." He rested his hands on her shoulders. "He wants to see you. I came in first because—frankly, because neither of us is sure if you want to see him."

She rocked back, twisting from his hold.

"It was in everyone's best interests that I leave ACN," she insisted, the continuation of an argument she'd played in her head for the last two weeks. "It wasn't his—I knew what I was doing. Even so, I wanted to stay till the end of the election coverage, you know. I'm not unprofessional, I should have stayed and seen the show through, but—" She clasped her fingers over her mouth while she struggled with composure. "We quarreled a second time. It was—"

"Really bad. It would have had to have been."

She arched an eyebrow in surprise.

"So, you ran." He sighed. "Mac, I'm your friend and I'll do whatever you want. I'll go out there and make excuses, give you time to think or just to get the hell out of Dodge again. But I have to say, and you know I'm no fan—he's come a long way. And I don't mean just distance."

"This is really shitty timing, Jim. I haven't slept in two days and I'm just so—so tired. I don't know if I can bear doing this. Again."

He held her eyes until she dropped her gaze, one side of her mouth hitching up in a sad smile.

"Tell him he can come in."

Jim squeezed her shoulder in affirmation before slipping out the door.

oooo

Mac ran a hand through her hair, suddenly aware of the tangles, knowing that there were hollows in her cheeks and a weary dullness in her eyes. She knew how rough she must look and she didn't want to appear this way in front of Will.

Exposed.

But there was simply no time to prepare.

She heard the door open and turned, bracing herself for whatever would come next.

He stood at the door, partially shadowed. She faced him for long seconds, before finally asking, "Will?"

Stepping closer, he appeared to be struggling for words. "Jim said, he said you—"

"I'm surprised to see you here, Will. This is a bit out of your usual sphere." She noticed rings of rolled gauze around his right bicep. "What happened?"

He advanced to just inches from her. "Mac—" then he pulled her to him. "Jesus, Mackenzie—"

She acquiesced to a brief embrace but then squirmed away. Nothing good would come of prolonging this.

He released her, sensing her discomfort.

"I'm glad I found you," he said.

"Yes. Well. I wasn't lost, you know." She tried to soften the words with a wan smile.

"No, I suppose not." Pause. "I'd pictured this differently—"

"You thought you would take me in your arms and what?—fade to black?"

He looked sheepish. "Maybe."

"And you came 7,000 miles to tell me you're sorry?"

"I am sorry. But I came 7,000 miles to tell you I—"

"Stop," she whispered, suddenly frightened of where he might be going.

"Mac, hear me out. We both know damned well you aren't here because of Genoa. You're here because I was too slow to say the things that might've— would have eased your burdens." He reached for her hands but she suddenly clasped them together and dropped them in front of her, thwarting his attempted gesture and erecting a small barrier to further contact.

He soldiered on despite the implication. "Charlie wants you back—he was fucking furious with me—Reese and Leona—Maggie and Kendra and Sloan and everybody else. I—" he began to falter, "I want you back home, too, Mac. But if you feel that New York isn't your home anymore, if you can't go back with me—then let me stay here with you, anywhere—just, with you… And if you can't tell me now, I'll wait. I'll wait for as long as you need me to. I didn't come here to bring you home, I came here because you are my home. I can't be anywhere else, anywhere you're not. So if you want to stay, if you need to stay, I have to be here too."

Mac seemed to flinch back, and when she spoke, her voice was pitched slightly higher than normal with nervous stress. "You don't get to do this. You don't get a do-over after—after—" [The right word didn't come. Neglect? Emotional abuse?] "—all this." It was inexact, but there wasn't a chance he'd misunderstand. Her hands felt icy and she knew they were trembling; it was why she'd clapped them together.

"I can't be just your producer, Will. Charlie was wrong, I was wrong. You couldn't hurt me unless I loved you, so this needs to end, this has to end. It's been years and I simply have to stop the bleeding now. I can't be around you."

He couldn't help but register a slight "oof" as that piano dropped on him.

"I don't know why the hell Jim brought you here, but—but thank you for coming, and you can go home now. I'll send Charlie something, a letter. I'll make it sound better, he won't find you at fault in this—"

"And what about Sloan? Maggie? Jim? Are they going to be your collateral damage?"

"They're yours, Will. Not mine." She retreated three more steps and ran a hand over her forehead, begging a moment to consider what was happening. "I don't want to be harsh. I'd like to—"

"Spare my feelings?" he offered bitterly.

"Yes." She looked him squarely in the eye and offered no further rationale because she feared losing her grasp on her composure. It seemed as though her mind was fogged by anger, by the tension and discomfort of the trip back from Damascus, by the anxiety borne of waiting for events that never transpired. "Will. I'm not entirely sure what I'm saying right now. I just came from three days on the line—I've been awake forever and right before you got here, I took an Ambien with an aquavit chaser. I never expected to find you and Jim waiting on the doorstep and I'm not processing any of this very well." She exhaled and closed her eyes briefly, relaxing her stance and falling into more of a characteristic fretful pose.

"I think I just need to crash right now. I feel as though I'm at my limit."

"Of course." He struggled to keep his voice neutral, to betray none of his feeling. "Can I take you to your hotel?" Then, sensing he might not be a welcome companion, "Can I get Jim for you?"

"My hotel is right over there." She indicated a distressed sofa across the room and reached for a tattered fleece jacket hanging from a chair. "Designer duvet."

"Take my room. I'll get another."

"Will. Please." She forced a small smile. "You're exhausting, you know? I'll be fine here. Just let me have an hour's rest, okay?"

"Okay." Pause. "You want me to stay or go?"

"Suit yourself." She dropped onto the sofa with a deep sigh. Within seconds her expression relaxed and her breathing began to level and deepen.

oooo

She slept for three hours, and when she woke, pushing up onto one elbow, she was more amused than annoyed to find him sitting in a chair at the far edge of the room.

"Is this the part where I'm eating scrambled eggs in my pajamas?" She swung her legs to the floor. "For some reason, I thought I'd dreamed you."

"Must be the Ambien." He gestured to a lidded cup and a butcher-wrapped package on the table. "No scrambled eggs, but I found some tea. And a sandwich. You should eat something."

She sipped at the tea and picked at the sandwich. It was a good way to delay talking again.

He sipped at his Diet Coke and fiddled with the tab.

"Will, I'm sorry. For what I said, before. I was a little strung out by the trip, and no sleep—"

"Mac, we each said the lines we'd been rehearsing for weeks." He finally looked up. "I don't think you said anything that I didn't need to hear."

"You don't deserve to have me unload on you."

"Interestingly, you would get an argument from me about that. But let's just let it go for now. How about we call a truce for dinner tonight? Three amigos?" he added, pointedly including Jim, just in case that fact was crucial to the decision.

"Dinner sounds good. But I need to do a few things here first, and I need a shower. Probably smell like a goat."

"There's a great shower at my hotel. Bathroom like a marble palace—no, a temple. Goats are standing in line for miles." He slid the plastic keycard to her. "Finish up here, Mac, then come on over. I won't get in your space," he added, as if she might need reassurance that he understood now where the boundaries were drawn.

oooo

In mid-afternoon, MacKenzie knocked at the door of Will's hotel room, but when it became apparent he wasn't there, she let herself in. She lingered in the shower, letting the water pummel her neck and shoulders, pound away some of the tension. He was right, the bathroom was a virtual temple to hygiene. Afterward, she dug stubborn grime from under her fingernails, tended the dime-sized blister on the back of her right foot, replaced the bandaid over the small laceration on her calf, and, finally, slipped on the hotel's terrycloth robe. Suddenly seized by another bout of bone-crushing weariness, she eased onto the edge of the bed, rationalizing that she would close her eyes for just a few minutes.

"Mac? MacKenzie?"

She frowned. Shadows had overtaken the room and she was momentarily disoriented. "What time is it? I didn't mean to—"

"You needed the sleep. Don't worry about it."

Will turned on the lamp but retreated to stand a dozen feet away.

"Jim and I were looking at footage from yesterday. Just finished." He stared at her with concern. "You're okay?"

"Fell asleep." She started to stretch, then caught herself. "Thanks for the use of the shower, by the way. Felt good."

"Jim's going to meet us downstairs in about twenty minutes. We're just going to eat at the hotel restaurant tonight, if that's all right."

"That's good. Uh—I need to finish—"

"Take as long as you need. I'll be downstairs."

oooo

MacKenzie's initial reticence crumbled after only ten minutes in the company of Will and Jim. The first glass of Zahlawi wine didn't hurt, either. Though she still seemed quiet, she managed an indulgent smile as she listened to the other two. Will nurtured his own reserve, mustering studied charm and even self-deprecation in badinage with Jim.

Jim, meanwhile, had sensed a need to assume responsibility for steering the conversation.

"We arrived at the refugee camp just as a team from the U.N. High Commissioner's office was making an inspection. Good thing, actually, since they—" Jim noticed Will's warning look, "—well, it was a nice bit of serendipity. Allowed Will to ask the questions of the body supposedly overseeing the humanitarian services for displaced peoples."

"I'm envious. DR missed all the action in Damascus—"

"The aerial bombing a few weeks ago?"

"I missed it. Joined the team late, and we always seemed to be on the recovery side. The Das Erste team has gotten the majority of the stories in the pool." She grimaced. "I seem to have turned into something of a news Jonah."

"It's hard for me to fathom anyone would complain about missing having tons of iron dropped on them." Will's sarcasm belied what he was really thinking. Fuck, Mac. Were you hellbent on suicide to escape me?

"I don't remember you as a Jonah, Mac," Jim rushed to say. "Seems like you and I have always done pretty well. Perhaps I'm the bad luck—" He didn't even have to make eye contact to know that Will was glaring at him for letting loose another ambiguous and vaguely leading remark. He hastened to neutralize it. "Anyway, we think we were able to put together something worthwhile about the refugee crisis here. Charlie should be pleased."

"When does it air?"

"Tonight, perhaps?" Will looked at his watch. "We uploaded it a few hours ago."

Her smile looked less sad. "Perhaps some of your good luck will rub off on me and when we go back to the line—"

"Mac, you're not seriously planning to go back with DR."

She blinked at his sudden vehemence.

"Come back to ACN. News Night needs you. Charlie'll find you a place anywhere you want. Name your terms. Hell, you can even take that offer that Jim thinks I don't know he's worked out for the pair of you at ABC."

She looked pained. "Let's not have this conversation now."

While the two glowered at each other, Jim did the only thing he could think of to break the mood. He knocked over the carafe of water.

He jumped up and began to ineffectually blot the spill. Will eased the table back so that Mac could stand, and two waiters rushed over to consider the damage. It was determined that they should be moved to another table, with dry linens and new set up. By the time they were situated again, Will's cell phone registered an incoming call.

"Charlie." He looked up. "Let me take this. I'll be right back."

As soon as he was out of the room, MacKenzie smiled and tilted her head. "Well. That was un-obvious. Dis-obvious. In-obvious. You know what I mean." Her eyes crinkled in a familiar way.

"I was improvising."

She looked after Will.

Jim continued. "He's right. Lenny Barnett at ABC is interested. Guaranteed twelve months with option for another twelve."

She made a noncommittal hum.

"Mac. Why not skip the DR thing? You don't need the professional validation. You're not getting anything out of this. Especially not salary."

"Not from you, too, Jimmy—"

"Stop running, Mac. You're acting as if you've fallen from grace somehow, and that's just not so. You didn't do anything wrong. Dantana's petition was a bust, not even water-cooler conversation. The show needs you."

"I miss them all, she admitted.

"Yeah, well, there's a fix for that. He knows it," he jerked a thumb in the direction Will had gone. "Cut him some slack." At her expression, he added, "Okay, yeah, I've seen his asshole pose, but sometimes he can—I mean, I think he half believed I would sell him to pirates in Tripoli when we got here. It was actually pretty funny."

"How did he hurt his arm?"

"I'd better let him talk about that—he gets kind of prickly and I don't want to—here he is now."

Will returned, relaying messages from Charlie about the video ["Top of B block—can't lead with a foreign story that doesn't have bodies or al-Qaida, but it's a good piece, Will"] and from Charlie and the bullpen to Mac.

oooo

After a leisurely dinner and conversation that now carefully hewed to neutral subjects, Jim bade the other two good-night and left them to finish what remained of the second bottle of wine.

"I should be going, too."

"Stay a few more minutes. Please." He poured the last of the wine into her glass. "You'll sleep better," he insisted when she looked as if to protest. "You could use more sleep, you know."

"Do I still resemble something—how did you put it—grown in the dark?"

"Bad hyperbole on my part. You are—" He paused with prosecutorial theatricality, and leaned against the table on both elbows.

"I am grateful, for a pleasant evening," she said, rushing to fill the space before he could continue. "It's been—nice—to visit with you and Jim. I've missed—this—and I really have to be going now myself. Early call tomorrow."

"Stay here tonight," he blurted. "It's more comfortable—you shouldn't have to—and you don't have to worry, I won't—" Mercifully, he finally stopped and started over. "What I'm saying, what I'm trying to say is, you deserve a place that's comfortable. I'll sleep on the sofa, or get another room. You deserve something better than the company hovel."

"I don't think that's a very good idea, Will. Under the circumstances." Slight smile. "But I'll let you call me a taxi."

"You didn't return my calls."

The accusation took her by surprise. "I didn't return any calls. To anyone," she lobbed back, rising. "On second thought, you don't have to bother about the taxi, I'm sure the doorman—"

"Mac, goddammit, I love you."

She looked as though she'd been struck.

"I want to bring you home—let me—" He reached for her hand.

She fled.

oooo

Late the next morning, Jim wandered round to the DR nerve center, such as it was. He caught the door as one man exited and let himself in. Mac, in her half reading glasses, was seated at a table in front of a laptop, and a blonde man stood closely behind her, looking over her shoulder. They spoke in low tones: take it back threeno, watch the counterthat's the onecut there.

"Hey, if you're wrapping up," Jim said, approaching, "how about lunch?"

"Jonas, this is Jim Harper, senior producer for Atlantis Cable News. We're old friends. Jim, this is Jonas Sorensen. He's the production director for this project."

Handshakes and pleasantries exchanged, Sorensen begged out of joining them. He wanted to organize files and test equipment for a prompt departure the following morning.

Mac slipped on her jacket and led Jim to the food stalls of the souk a few blocks away. They sat outside, comfortable in the sun of the late-November afternoon.

"You're still seeing Hallie?"

"When I'm not here. When her schedule permits. So, in other words—not very much, not very often. There's a lot of Skyping, texting, messages in bottles." Jim squinted at her. "So, I'm guessing things got rocky after I left last night?"

She made a short laugh.

"I could look for that number for the pirates in Tripoli, if you're interested. Might solve your problem." He shrugged. "Mac, I was serious about what I said before. This DR thing is a dead end. It's just running away and it's going to make smart people in the business wonder what you're running from, and then they're going to think of Dantana and Genoa. So, without meaning to, you're tying yourself to this Genoa thing more completely and blatantly than any stupid lawsuit." He leaned forward with his most earnest face on. "Not a good career move, Mac."

"Well, there's a shortage of good wars just now, Jim." Pause. "You're right. Of course. But whatever you've cooked up at ABC—"

"Screw ABC. You don't want to come back to New York because of Will. He chased you all the way over here, and that would seem to imply he wants to fix things."

"When did you two get so chummy?"

"Chummy isn't the word I'd use. In any event, my loyalty is to you. Just in case you're wondering."

They ate in companionable silence, enjoying the din and color of the marketplace and finally finishing the repast with date-filled cookies Mac told him were the regional specialty.

"Charlie's going to pull us out this week," Jim sighed, apropos of nothing in particular. "I think the Lansings must be making a lot of noise about Will being gone. Plus, you know, it's kind of obvious that this really isn't his usual gig."

"Damned short-sighted for him to be here anyway. I'm surprised at Charlie letting him come. It's still dangerous for westerners, there are kidnappings all the time."

"Doesn't the same go for you?"

"You and I—we're both old hands at this now." She stopped at his expression. "What?"

"You're the one who shouldn't be here anymore, Mac." He seemed to hover on the edge of saying more but hesitated. When he finally spoke again, he changed the subject.

"Why don't you come over later and we'll have some drinks and I'll play for you. If you're still determined to go back on the line tomorrow, this might be the last chance—for a while."

"Oh, you brought your guitar?" He let that sail past without additional explanation. "I'd like that, Jim. I need to review the schedules with Jonas, but I could be there by, say, six-thirty."

"I'll see you then. I think I'll just look around here for a bit, maybe do some shopping."

oooo

Shortly after seven, MacKenzie walked into the hotel bar. It was crowded with bored international businessmen and a dozen or so officious-looking probable bureaucrats. One table was full of people, men and women, of a vaguely military profile. Techno music blared from speakers over the bar. She scanned faces until she finally recognized Jim's in a dark corner table at the end. As she got nearer, she saw that Will was with him.

"I invited myself. I hope that's—"

She offered a game smile. "There's no problem, Will."

He was relieved. She didn't seem to hold any residual anger from their face-off the night before.

A waiter appeared with beers and a half carafe of wine.

"I thought you promised me a concert."

"Too noisy in here," Jim indicated the crowd across the room. "I'll play something later if Will makes his suite available as concert hall."

Will rubbed at his temple as he nodded.

She had to raise her voice a bit to be heard over the noise. "Did your piece air? Did Charlie like it?"

"Well, for what it was—no visible carnage, purely a humanitarian story—he said it got really good reaction. Good numbers."

"I thought Charlie was immune to numbers." That was what he always claimed. But the numbers after the Genoa expose had put lie to that…

"Not when the story gets picked up by CBS and ITV, replayed in its entirety. Fox ran it, too, but an edited version."

"Still. That's impressive." She turned to look at Will, who hadn't said anything. "Does that mean you'll be here for a follow-up?"

"I'd like to—but Charlie and I need to talk about it. Reese is getting antsy, wants me back at the desk." He tipped back his beer, hoping to put a little alcoholic blur on the slight headache that had developed over the course of the day. "How about you stay put and produce the follow-up for us?"

"You have a good producer already." She smiled at Jim.

"Well, we were thinking about giving you a try out—you know, bring you on as an intern, kind of a probationary thing," Jim added, playing along. "Maybe you could check sound levels for us and carry—ouch!"

After finishing their drinks, they relocated to the sitting room of Will's suite, whereupon he called room service for snacks and more drinks.

"Okay, it isn't a Stradivarius," Jim began apologetically, giving the guitar a quick strum.

"Check your mid-range. I think you're out of tune again." While Jim bent his ear to the sound hole, Will offered explanation to Mac. "The bracing on the inside isn't symmetrical. So when it's strung opposite to how it was intended, the tension of the strings isn't sufficient to counterbalance. It's always pulling itself out of tune." He shrugged. "But it works okay in the short term. Just have to keep tuning."

Jim played a rapid quartet of songs, all somewhere in the alt or rock spectrum, only two of which she recognized. When he finally paused for a beer, he asked archly, "How about something by Del Shannon?"

"No. No Del Shannon." Will was emphatic, almost comically so.

Puzzled by that cryptic exchange, Mac counter-offered, "Green Day?"

Jim knew only "Wake Me When September Ends" and "Good Riddance," and he made short work of both, omitting any fancy fingerwork or chordal embellishments. Will, never an easy man to read, seemed more opaque than usual this night. He'd declined when Jim offered the guitar to him, so Jim didn't want to engage in anything that could be construed as competitive musicianship.

The evening seemed to be winding down, so when Mac asked to borrow his loo, Will nodded, asking her to bring some aspirin with her when she returned. The alcohol hadn't eased his headache.

She returned with the aspirin and her demeanor much changed. She seemed withdrawn but nervous. After another song, she reached to touch Jim's arm.

"Would you mind—I'm so sorry, Jim, but would you mind if we cut this short tonight ?" It was obvious she had something on her mind.

He swung the guitar down. "No problem." He looked in her face for a clue as to what, if anything, he should propose next. Dinner? More drinks downstairs? Or did she mean an early end to the evening? "You're tired and—"

"I need to talk to Will."

"Um, sure." He looked over to where Will mirrored his own mild surprise. "Can I—I mean, I'll see you before you leave tomorrow morning?"

"I promise you'll see me tomorrow, Jimmy."

He felt better. Relieved. He let himself out, securing another promise from Mac. "See you in the morning—" and ensuring he saw her nod agreement.

Will was trying, with difficulty, to show no expression. He didn't know what this was about. It was probably not a good thing, except that he couldn't remember having pissed Mac off in the last couple of hours. He'd tried very hard, actually, to be sociable. Companionable. He looked at her expectantly.

"You lied to me."

"Wha—"

"You lied to me. You told me you returned it." She was holding the Tiffany's box.

"How did you—where—"

"You sent me for aspirin. I looked where normal people keep aspirin. How was I to know you use the medicine cabinet as a wall safe?"

He remembered now. He'd had the ring in his pocket all day the day before, wanting to have it available should the conversations with Mac have ever veered in his favor. But they hadn't, and that night he'd replaced the ring in its teal blue box and then, because it was late and he didn't want to make another trip to the lobby for the hotel safe, shoved it into the medicine cabinet. He figured it would be more secure there than buried in a drawer, hidden beneath clothes.

"Why didn't you just tell me you hadn't taken it back?"

"Because it suddenly seemed—Jesus, it didn't seem like you'd ever want to see it again. Banner of my deceit. I mean, I was really torn about even bringing it, and then I thought that if you wouldn't see me, I'd just throw it into the sea."

"For the geographically challenged among us, the sea is presently thirty five miles to the east. And what you said last night at dinner—"

"Of course I love you." All one breathless italicized phrase; he sounded almost indignant. "Why else would I be here? I'm no Ernie Pyle. I read fucking news commentary off a fucking teleprompter from the twenty-fourth floor of a Manhattan skyscraper."

She squeezed his upper arm gently, provoking a slight wince. "And what's this?"

"Clumsiness. I got a scratch getting out of a car."

From her expression he could tell that she didn't buy it, but that she wasn't about to challenge him on it at this moment.

He swallowed, allowing long seconds to pass before he spoke again.

"Mac, I know there's a scar I haven't seen, and that there are others that have been right in front of me and I haven't paid attention. But you are not going to be hurt anymore, not on my account, and not for any other reason that I can help."

"Wasn't I 'the dream from which it happened well that you awoke'?"

He reached for her hands. "You were the best, the only true thing I've ever had, MacKenzie."

She exhaled. "I think—I think I might be beginning to believe this—"

The hopefulness in her voice gave him the courage to come closer. He plainly needed to kiss her, to seal this deal, and she was giving no sign at all that she would resist such a move.

"Can you take us back six years, Billy?"

That's it.

Cupping her face in both hands and pulling her close, just wanting to gaze at her for a moment before closing his eyes and pressing lips to hers. He fought to remain tender and slow, no idea where this was going but determined not to let it end over his own eagerness. She pulled from the kiss first and he felt his heart sink.

A hint of wry amusement crossed her face. "What other coercive tactics did you plan to employ?"

Thus encouraged, he returned to her lips, and the second kiss was searing honesty, reflecting how much depended upon getting this right this time. He wanted to convince her this was real, this was right, this was how things would be from now on. Her hands slipped up to his shoulders and his twined slowly into her hair. He pushed against her, needing to feel her warmth and softness pressed to him, and he dropped his head to plant soft wet kisses to her collarbone and at the hollow of her throat.

"You've got to be on the level with me, Billy," she whispered. "I couldn't take—"

"I'm completely on the level, Mac, and I'll never hurt you again."

At that, she initiated the kiss, her soft mouth at once yielding and making its own demands.

His hands traced down, crushing her into his chest. He pulled back this time, breathing ragged and senses inflamed. He had to fight to focus. He didn't want to get this wrong.

"I want to make love to you, MacKenzie."

"After this—I think you'd better."

He bent to kiss her again, this time scooping her in his arms as well. When he staggered briefly, searching for a light switch in the bedroom, she giggled into the kiss. "I remember you being smoother than this."

"I'm gonna give you smooth—"

He gently eased her to the bed, his hands on her shoulders as he looked stupidly at her. He drew his palms down her arms, grasping wrists that seemed impossibly delicate, threading their fingers briefly, then lifting and kissing her hands, relearning a private language of sensation and touch.

oooo

The room was still dark but she knew it was morning. She stirred against him.

"I love you, Billy."

"You could have told me so last night, you know," he mumbled indistinctly.

"Wanted to make you work for it." She snuggled back against his impossibly warm shoulder. "Hey. It's morning. We need to get up."

He dropped back into a snooze, but ever dutiful, she rose and began to assemble the discarded components of her clothing. He watched through slit eyes.

"I really have to get moving. I have to tell Jonas I won't be going with the team today." She got no reaction, so she gestured to shower. "Your temple of hygiene—mind if I go first?"

"Every temple deserves a goddess."

Rolls eyes. "You're beginning to gild the lily—Billy," she scolded lightly, just goofy enough with morning-after love to make awful puns. "And every goddess needs a high priest—"

He sat up with a start, then bolted to his feet. "Mac?" He shook his head then seemed to sway a tiny bit. "What are you—" was all she heard before his knees appeared to buckle and he pitched back to the bed.

A/N: First, sincere thanks to Guest who corrected my German in chapter 1. Second, chapter 2 has been Bowdlerized to comply with FFN rating requirements. Complete text available at AO3.