A/N: Remember Rose? The woman he had drinks with at the end of Season One ... This takes place between Season One and Two. It's not exactly M, but it's a strong T-rating!

Eight Dates with Mac

Rose

As his hands skimmed over her back and found a slice of skin above the waistband of her skirt, Rose took in a deep breath. As expected, his hands were warm and comforting, but when his thumbs brushed against her, she tingled with anticipation. Slowly, she moved her hands to his tie and began to loosen the knot. Her hands shook, betraying the intense nerves behind her cool exterior.

His eyes were curious, yet detached, as if he were watching someone else loosen the tie on another man. She hadn't known him long, but she had seen that expression before. When she touched his arm. When he approached her at the bar. The first time he kissed her. She smiled nervously, and he returned it, much to her relief. She pulled the tie out and looked around the bedroom, wondering where to drop it. Mac liked things neat, she supposed, and she wasn't quite willing to drop it on the floor, nor was she the type to toss it across the room in the throes of passion. He spared her the decision, removing one hand from her back to take it from her hands.

"Thank you," he said, leaning over to set it on his dresser.

"Where'd you get it?" An awkward question designed to fill awkward space.

"It was a gift," Mac explained. "My friend Stella." His voice was smooth, but loud in the small room, and it sounded out-of-place. She imagined her voice sounded the same. She took an inadvertent step back, and he mistook it for nerves. He removed his other hand from the small of her back, and she was left face-to-face with no physical contact. She bit her lip, knowing this was the moment to turn away.

Eight weeks ago, she would have said it would be impossible that she would be there, to tell the truth. The first date had been awkward and phony, and the bar she had selected had been far too trendy and noisy for his tastes. She didn't expect to see him again, but was pleasantly surprised when he had called. The second date was better. Dinner at the quiet restaurant had begun slow. She was neither chatty nor outgoing, and when paired with a deliberate and methodical thinker, they spent considerable time not speaking. The third time they met, he told her he was a widower. She wasn't surprised, the emptiness in his eyes and the way he played with his ring finger as if a band still circled it needed no explanation. During their fourth date, it was Mac's turn to listen. Rose was adrift in a sea of emptiness, divorce having robbed her of her security and her self-worth. Seeing Mac was little more than an experiment, her way of proving to herself that she was still worthy of company. Still, as summer marched forward, their relationship was comfortable, and Mac was a safe choice for her as she regained her footing in life.

By July, she had known they would sleep together eventually, if only to prove that they could. It would be satisfying and good, but it wouldn't keep them together, Rose knew that. Still, she expected that she would remember Mac as a sympathetic and kind man who needed her as much as she needed him. The summer had been magical and glorious, allowing them both to pretend that they were fine, that they had moved on, that they were ready. But they weren't, and Mac knew that as much as Rose did. So as the August moon began to rise in the sky, Rose regretted their timing. Five years from now, things would have been different. This moment, in his sterile bedroom after two glasses of wine, would have been a beginning, not an ending.

But they were here, and it was happening and that was fine too. So she stepped forward, eliminating the zone of safety. She brought her hands to his shirt and boldly, she began to unbutton it. His hands returned to her back and then slipped lower and she felt one tug her close to him as he lightly ran it over the peach silk of her skirt. Physical desire took over then and she breathed deeply. He pressed his lips against her temple, and he inhaled. She smoothed his undershirt, and she felt the strength in his chest as she moved her hands up to his shoulders, and she pulled his dress shirt off his arms.

One of his hands moved beneath her sweater and across her abdomen. She felt a thumb touch her there and stop. She still hadn't kissed him on the lips. She looked up and his eyes, while staring intently at her, were distant. She whispered, "Are you with me?"

He looked at her, surprised and then bashful. And then he took a deep breath, pulling himself back to the moment. He leaned over and captured her lips with his. His tongue meshed with hers, and she was positively out of breath when he finally pulled away. His fingers began to run up her rib cage under her sweater.

"I'm convinced," she replied, lifting her arms up and begging him to take her sweater off. He did, easily, and she stood before him in her bra. He played with the lace on the edges. He stopped suddenly, and she wondered what was wrong. "Mac?"

He whispered then, "I'm sorry this is ..." She looked up, furrowing her brow at his statement. He blushed and quickly ran a hand over his face, truly embarrassed at his hesitation. Rose released a breath, wondering how she had read this moment so wrong. He was apologizing to her while she was half naked. Could it be worse? "It's not you," he assured. Finally, he exhaled and muttered, "Christ." Then he looked at a spot against the wall.

"Hey," she whispered, taking over and touching his face. "This feels ... different for me too." He nodded, his gaze returning to her eyes. He was hesitant, though, and Rose wondered if it would happen. He blinked a few times and then smiled.

He leaned in and kissed her neck. She felt his breath as he asked, "You okay?" He was back, and so Rose smiled even though he couldn't see her face. She nodded, knowing he could feel her movement. She ran her hands up his strong biceps before she placed her hands on his face and moved it back so she could look at him. She kissed his jaw. Confident eyes looked back at her. "Stay with me, and we'll be fine," he assured her.

She ran her fingers over his stomach just above his waistband. As she touched his belt buckle, she felt him shudder. Then she whispered, "I'm with you."