Notes

As it turns out, the episodes that are in my possession had been numbered incorrectly, and therefore I have been watching certain episodes of season 1 out of sequence. Nothing too detrimental, but – as I found out after writing most of this fic – I had referred to certain things that had not yet occurred in the series, once I found the correct order of episodes. (Or what I believe is the correct order, after I checked roughly 5-10 lists, most of them claiming different sequences for the episodes I needed.) I removed all except for one 'incorrect' reference; the McCall one in this chapter, because I just really like it and I want to keep it *pouts* (it's fanFICTION, right?)

Also, I haven't watched any episodes beyond the start of season 4 yet (I know, I know, I will get to them, BUT FIC). Though I think I am aware of most of the spoilers from season 5 and 6; NO SPOILERS PLEASE xD

CHAPTER 2 – Don't be stubborn

As relaxed as she had been earlier that day, there was only tenseness in her muscles right now as Michaela sat in their makeshift shelter, carefully watching Sully as he gathered more branches while out in the pouring rain.

Honestly, the man was too stubborn for his own good.

Sully mesmerised and confused her in equal measure. She always found herself wanting to learn more about him, yet every time she did, she felt herself becoming more drawn to him and she worried this meant she would lose her independence. She feared she would lose herself. Sometimes, the things she felt between them were so strong, yet unexplainable, and she wanted to run for the hills. She didn't understand it, but her attempts to make sense of it all had come to naught. It frightened her. He frightened her, with the way he made her feel. She hadn't allowed herself to feel for a very long time. Years. Ever since David had died, she had started to hide her feelings from the world, afraid that if she were to show them, somebody would hurt her again. And with the more recent death of her father, she felt as though a part of her ability to feel had been buried along with him, never to resurface ever again.

Somehow, Sully had managed to tap into those uncharted waters. He had found a way in without forcing it, like a gentle breeze on a summer's night; present, and pleasant, but not overbearing. With an arm around her shoulder, burning her skin and leaving a warm, tingling sensation. A hand on her lower back, supporting her and secretly making her long for more, even if she did not know what, exactly. A whispered word in her ear, or a passing greeting, his deep, low voice sending shivers up and down her spine.

It was overwhelming her, and yet she craved more, wanted to be near him. Needed to have him close.

Michaela didn't know what to make of it. She didn't understand it herself, and it frustrated her to no end. It was a puzzle she hadn't yet been able to solve, and it irked her. How could someone she considered a friend – and quite possibly the closest friend she'd ever had in her life, apart from Charlotte and her oldest sister Rebecca – evoke such strong feelings, the likes of which she had never even experienced with her fiancé?

She pulled Sully's red and black Cheyenne poncho up around her shoulders. It smelled like him, and for a second she allowed herself to bring the coarse fabric up to her nose to breathe in his masculine scent. Realising he could catch her at any moment, smelling his blanket, she clutched it between the fingers of her able hand instead, keeping it closed around her upper body, careful not to bump her broken wrist.

Michaela wasn't used to needing anyone, relying on others. She'd learned it could only lead to disappointment.

And yet…

There had been something in his eyes, last night, as she'd washed her face and neck with a piece of wet cloth. She hadn't thought much of her actions, trying to take care of her regular ablutions under the current basic circumstances, until she'd caught the look in his eyes. He had admonished her for wasting the water, and had lain down to go to sleep. Only, he hadn't gone to sleep. He had been watching her with that look in his eyes, and she'd frozen, momentarily unsure of what to do as a faint throb made itself known in her lower abdomen and down between her thighs.

She'd suddenly felt terribly self-conscious, flushing and quickly buttoning up her blouse and clutching the fabric around her neck as though that would protect her from his piercing stare. She'd been embarrassed by her own behaviour. What must he have thought of her? She had been instantly aware of what she had done; closing her eyes, arching her neck, her skin damp… Dear God, she must have looked like some wanton, loose woman!

Surely Sully, who had been nothing but a perfect gentleman up to this point – albeit a bit roguish – would not approve of such displays of… of…

Or had he… had he liked what he'd seen? She was too afraid to ask, and she knew it was far from wise or proper to pry.

Michaela was an observant woman. She had noticed men staring at her over the years, some of them more appreciative or respectful than others. But none of them had looked at her the way Sully would look at her. There was an intensity in his gaze that could reach inside her innermost thoughts and feelings, awakening a part of her she hadn't even realised was there before she'd met him.

She cared about him, and it terrified her, yet it also made her inexplicably happy whenever he was around.

She liked to think he cared about the children… about her. She wasn't sure, and it often scared her to think about it at all. But she wanted him to care. When Ethan Cooper had come into town to take away the children to San Francisco, and she and Sully had confronted him about stealing the money for the school, Ethan had told her he cared about her. She hadn't missed the sound of utter disbelief and disapproval Sully had made at this statement, but she'd been so caught up in calling Ethan out on a lie that she'd dismissed it.

But she hadn't forgotten about it.

Sully had seemed angry, not just about the money, but about the way Ethan was trying to win her over with false flattery. And when he'd written that touching letter to the children, explaining their father's sudden disappearance… His gesture had warmed her heart as it broke for the children's loss.

Ever since news of David's passing had reached her, Michaela hadn't allowed herself to feel these kinds of feelings anymore; true joy, sadness, grief, love. She'd convinced herself she simply wasn't ready, hadn't mourned David long enough, whatever lie she could tell herself that would keep the feelings at bay. Then, her father had died and she'd moved to Colorado and all the while she'd told herself she had other priorities than feeble feelings, love, finding a partner. She knew they were simply excuses because she was afraid, and they had worked. Until she'd met Sully.

David had been from her world, but then her world had shifted, and it had collided with Sully's.

Now, she wasn't so sure where her priorities were supposed to lie.

She knew she wanted something from Sully, but she didn't know how to ask, or what she even wanted to ask for.

Around the time Loren had developed a hernia, she'd asked Sully a question she still regretted until this day.

"Don't you think it's time that you put Abagail to rest?"

He looked surprised, taken aback, insulted, confused.

"Well, things like that just happen in their own time."

"I know it's difficult to let go-"

He interrupted her, raising his voice slightly, startling her with its sudden coldness.

"Why don't you just get back to that? You're good at cuttin'."

He had been right. She had been cutting right into his personal business. Why had she even asked him? She'd had no right to pry. It wasn't her place. She wasn't even sure if she would ever be able to let go of the memory of David completely, yet she'd asked Sully to simply put the memory of his dear wife to rest. Had she already sunken so low as to be jealous of his deceased wife? Or was she merely projecting her own frustrations at her own incapability to love onto him? She was no longer mourning David's death. But that didn't mean she was already capable of moving on. She wasn't ready yet.

Was she?

Not long after Loren's health had improved, a new born baby had been thrown into her lap – quite literally, courtesy of Mr. McCall when he'd left his infant in her care – and it had forced her to start thinking about the future, instead of contemplating the past. After singing a lullaby to put the baby to sleep, she'd dreamed about that same evening.

She was at the homestead, sitting in front of a warm fire, cradling the baby in her arms. Only in her dream, Mr. McCall's child had changed into her own baby girl, with coppery blonde, wavy hair, and deep, blue eyes. Sully was there, watching her with those same navy blue eyes from across the small space. Their eyes met, just like they had on that particular evening, and she'd felt a spark. She couldn't help but wonder if he knew what she was thinking. It had certainly felt like it. Dream-Sully crossed the distance between them in a few steps, and sat down next to her. He leaned in to put his arm around her, and kissed her cheek, his stubble scratching her sensitive skin. He stroked the baby's fine hair, then moved his palm to cup Michaela's jaw, moving closer. She could feel his warm breath on her lips-

The next morning she'd awoken to the baby's cries, feeling flustered, confused and restless.

Michaela's thoughts lingered on the dream, when a flash of lightning suddenly illuminated the sky, startling the couple on the forest floor. She tightened her hold on Sully's poncho.

"Sully?" Michaela called out, observing him as he moved further away from the shelter to cut more branches.

"What?!" he yelled in reply over the sound of the rain.

"Come inside!" It wasn't a question. He would catch his death of cold, that infuriatingly obstinate man. The consequences of putting someone else's health and needs before her own came back to slap her in the face, like the steady rain outside the shelter. Once she'd uttered her demand – it was for his own good, really – she realised with a start that this meant he could possibly be joining her in the small shelter he'd built. Which meant that-

"It'll stop soon!" he declared, his back turned towards her.

She wondered if he actually believed that himself. She'd only experienced this kind of rain once or twice before, back in Boston. It was referred to as a cloudburst, and to her knowledge, it could take a while. He would get hypothermia before it was over, or catch pneumonia, which would likely result in the same outcome: death.

"Don't be stubborn!" she yelled back at him, and he turned to face her.

He crouched down so he was at eyelevel with her, and she had to force herself to look at his face, and not at the way his soaked shirt clung to his torso.

"It's an old habit," he said, using her own words against her.

As far as Michaela was concerned, two could play that game.

"Give it up," she countered, a crooked, small smile gracing her tired features.

Sully looked at her, considering his options, when another loud thunderclap stole his attention, and he turned his eyes towards the dark sky. Nature had made his decision for him, it seemed. He got to his feet to move around the shelter, and started taking off his tool belt so he could kneel down on the blanket without hinderance.

Meanwhile, Michaela was doing her best to dampen the surge of conflicting emotions that was threatening to overtake her fatigued body. One the one hand, she was afraid of what this meant, of what might happen. The unknown terrified her. On the other, she wanted his presence, his comfort, his warmth. Battling with herself, and with her notions of propriety, she unwrapped his poncho from her body and scooted over to make room for Sully.

As she was laying down on her back, making sure to not put weight on her injured arm, he moved into the shelter, carefully crawling onto the blanket next to her. She couldn't face him – the thought alone made her blush profusely – but having to lie on her back she couldn't turn her body away from him. She looked the other way as she felt him moving around behind her, lifting the red poncho to lie down under it with her.

Being a doctor, Michaela knew that sharing body heat was a great way to increase survival rates in case of extreme circumstances, and though she doubted it would come to that tonight, she couldn't help the sigh that escaped her mouth when she felt the heat coming off of his body. He was always so warm. Even now, wearing wet clothes, there was no denying the smouldering heat underneath. She barely managed to stifle a squeak when she felt his damp hand coming to rest on her hip - burning her skin through all the layers covering it - but she couldn't stop her heart from nearly beating out of her chest at the close physical contact.

His hand was reaching for hers – or had she been reaching for his? – and when his skin touched hers, their fingers blindly laced together as though they had done so a thousand times already. He gently squeezed her hand in a comforting, reassuring gesture and stretched his body behind her, his other arm coming to reach over her head. She felt surrounded by him, but it wasn't stifling. She felt warm and safe in his encompassing embrace, and soon his even breathing and the sound of the rain lulled her into a peaceful slumber.

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