For the third time that week, after Michael had left to run some errands, Sara found refuge in the building's laundry room, thankful to find it deserted this early in the evening. Ever since the kiss, she felt uncomfortable whenever strangers were around. Irrational as it was, she was afraid people could tell how terrible a person she was just by looking at her face. She certainly could see it when she faced a mirror.

She was busy sorting out swimming suits, beach towels and other items that were completely useless this early in the year when Lincoln's low voice resonated behind her.

"You can't avoid me forever, you know."

"What are you doing here? I thought rooms without windows made you feel sick."

"I can manage," he shrugged.

"Right, that's why you refuse to use the elevator."

"It's you're third laundry this week, if you're trying to be sneaky, you're not doing a very good job at it."

"Ever heard of a spring cleaning? No, of course you haven't."

"He thinks you're pissed at him."

"Well," she breathed as the familiar ball of anxiety and guilt worked its way to her stomach, "I'm pissed at myself."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Look, we need to work this thing out."

"Sure, it turned out so well the last time you suggested we settle something."

"Hey, you can't put the blame on me. You didn't push me away. In fact…"

"Shut up! Why I didn't kick you hard enough to calm you down indefinitely, I still have no idea," she replied. And it was the truth; she just couldn't figure it out. It was her worst lapse in judgment since her overdose, years ago. Something entirely stupid and wrong and yet she hadn't been able to stop herself.

"Sara," he said softly before putting his arm on her shoulder in a gesture that meant to be comforting.

"Don't touch me," she snapped, slapping his hand away. "The only way to work this out is for you to move out and to never, ever mention this incident again."

Not that it would help her not to think about it, but at least he wouldn't be around all the time to remind her of her enormous mistake. Which he did, daily. It was the way he looked at her when he thought she wouldn't notice. He stared at her with a mixture of longing and shame, the same way she knew she did when Michael was otherwise occupied. Not that she would ever admit it. After all, it was all his fault.

"If I left without a solid explanation while you're so obviously distraught, Michael would figure something's going on. He's pretty perceptive."

"I'm not distraught, I'm sick of you! Can't you see the mess you've brought in our lives? You're everywhere, you've taken over the flat; you're interfering in our relationship; ruining everything when we've finally managed to settle down and work out our issues. Why you can't do the same, I don't know but it's not my problem, nor his. You're not our roommate! You're just a fucking intruder!"

"Worked our your issues, uh? Newsflash, honey, Michael tells me things."

"Things? What things?"

"That you're so engrossed in your new job you barely notice him when he comes home. You never talk to him and he's worried if he tries to initiate some discussion, you'll snap at him –I wonder why," he added with a derisive smirk. "Oh, also, he's not too happy that you keep pushing him away. You two haven't fucked in weeks."

She took a step back and brought her hand to her flushed face, feeling like he had just slapped her, hard. Sure, he could be making it up from what he had observed of their daily lives, but she knew there was some truth in it.

It had taken her long enough to get her medical licence back, now she was very intent on proving she wasn't the irresponsible lovesick junky the papers had painted her to be. She worked a lot more than she was expected to and at the end of the day, she was so exhausted and fed up she rarely felt very communicative. Besides, Lincoln's constant presence clouded on the rare moments of peace and quiet she could have shared with Michael. She used to tell herself it would sort itself out once she would finally feel accepted at the clinic and Lincoln would move out. She was starting to realise it may not be that simple.

"How dare you," she shouted once she recovered from his biting tirade. She raised her hand to slap him, but he grabbed it and easily stopped her. He pulled on her forearm and suddenly, he was in her space again her breath caught in her throat.

They stood there for a minute, paralyzed and way too close for comfort, before he gave in to the impulse and grabbed the back of her neck to pull her face to his almost violently for a burning, vicious kiss

She tried to conjure the strength to run away from him, to flee the room and never allow him to get close to her again, but her body wasn't obeying her. She leaned into him, grabbing his shoulders, giving in.

"You have no idea how much it turns me on when you yell at me," he murmured and pressed himself against her to let her know how much he meant it. She could feel him, hard and hot against her lower stomach and it was awakening the ache she had been trying so hard to repress.

She couldn't understand it. How could a shouting match with her almost brother-in-law do that to her when with Michael, it was the tenderness and complicity that had taken years to build up that turned her on? It felt too good; it was wrong, maybe it was the combination of both that made it so impossible to resist. The thought that she should be putting up more of a fight crossed her mind and yet she only found herself pressing against him harder.

Then his hands were on her again, searching the soft skin of her breasts beneath her blouse and all thoughts of walking away were lost.

"Someone could show up," she said breathlessly as he started unbuttoning her top.

"I know," he replied as if it didn't matter to him at all. And it didn't, really, nothing did but what his mouth was doing to her breasts while his hands worked their ways inside her jeans, pushing her panties aside to touch her there. She moaned loudly, amazed by the delightful jolt of heat his fingers sent coursing through her body. She let her head fall back.

"Oh God, we need to stop!" she groaned before crashing against him again to bite his shoulder not so gently, enjoying his sharp cry of pleasure and pain.

"I know," he replied, stroking her harder.

"Please don't stop," she hissed desperately, grabbing his arm as if to make sure he wouldn't take his hand away.

"I won't," he muttered as he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans and boxers. She grabbed his erect cock tightly and he cried out before pushing her hand away.

"Don't, I can't…"

He let the sentence trail away and lifted her up to sit her on a washing machine. His shaky hands pushed down her pants and he settled between her opened thighs.

When he pushed inside her, she locked her arms around him and buried her head in his neck. With each thrust, the nagging guilt was pushed further away and she was left with only the terrible, agonizing pleasure Lincoln's body was bringing her. There would be ample time to feel like hell afterwards, she knew. She moved in time with him, wanting nothing but to get him closer, further insider her.

He climaxed before she did, grabbing her hips hard enough to leave marks, and when he recovered, his hand went to stroke her again until she cried out against his neck in turn, feeling herself collapse into a million fragments.

She suspected that when the pieces would combine again, they might not be entirely the way they had been before.

He waited until her breathing evened out to step away from her and she let herself slide from the machine and to her feet. When their eyes met, they saw in each other's flushed faces and glazed eyes just how far beyond the line they had gone. Realisation was slowly setting on the two of them, bringing with it its lot of shame and darkness.

"We should, uh, get dressed," he murmured, suddenly a lot more worried to be caught with his pants down and his brother's girl than he had been a few moments earlier.

She nodded and put on her discarded clothes before rearranging her hair. Her hand went to her cheek and it still felt thoroughly flushed. Damn her redhead complexion.

"I think it would be better if you went out tonight," she said softly when she was done, looking away.

"Yeah, I was planning to."

"What are you going to do?"

"Get drunk, I guess," he shrugged as if stating the obvious. That was what he usually did when he had done something stupid.

"I didn't mean about tonight."

"I don't know, Sara. I really don't know."

She didn't, either.