She was still curled up on the couch when he let himself in. He wasn't sure if he'd be welcome, but he had no place else to go. Maybe she would let him sleep on the couch until he found someplace else, or maybe she'd tell him to go to hell. He didn't really care anymore – he just needed to see her, to see with his own eyes that there was nothing left. After that, well, he had no idea. His life now began and ended with Alex Eames, and if that was taken away from him then he didn't know what he'd do.

He waited for her to say something, anything, but she wouldn't even look at him. And then he looked at her, really looked at her, and his heart broke. She was so still and pale, and even though he could tell she'd made an effort to fix herself up, her eyes were red and puffy. He'd done that to her; he was the one who'd put that look of despair on her face, he was the one who'd made her cry.

"Alex," he began, and was almost glad when she stopped him because he doubted that there were any words to make it better.

"Don't."

So he didn't. He sat down in the chair opposite her and just waited. He wasn't sure how long they sat there before he noticed that she was struggling not to cry. He hated himself in that moment, hated himself more than he'd ever hated anything in his life, for reducing this strong, sassy, amazing woman to tears.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologise for not loving me," she snapped, staring into her lap.

It took him a beat to process what she said, and even then he didn't think he heard her correctly. "What? That's not what I'm . . . what?"

"Look, I get it, okay. I'm not stupid."

"I think one of us must be, because I have no idea what you're talking about."

"This obviously wasn't what you signed up for. But it's not exactly what I signed up for either, you know?"

"Alex – "

"No more," she said, wiping her eyes, "I'm too tired to do this anymore."

"You think I don't love you?" he asked, incredulous that she could get it so wrong. Alex knew everything. She had human behaviour down pat. She knew how he felt; she as good as said so on the phone. So how did she go from knowing that, to knowing nothing? "How could you think that? How could you not realise that –"

"Cut it out," she interrupted, "Just stop it, okay?"

"You said . . . on the phone," he pressed on, leaning forward to fully engage her, "you said you knew how I felt."

"I do. And I asked you if that would change and you said no. So here we are."

"But you're operating under the assumption that I don't love you. How is that even possible?"

"Probably because it's true."

"It's so far from the truth that it's not even funny," he said, smiling as something occurred to him. She wouldn't be this upset – she couldn't be this upset – if she didn't feel some of what he felt.

"You think this is funny?" she spat. "I'm a big joke to you now?"

"No," he hurried to assure her. "It's just that I've been so miserable thinking that I was in love with a woman who felt nothing for me, who it turns out was miserable thinking that I felt nothing for her."

Alex shook her head. "It's not possible. I'd know if you . . . I'd know."

He was trying not to smile, to laugh, to cry, because now he knew that she loved him and he could work with that. Once he made her see that they had been as stupid as each other; once he made her believe that she was his everything, then it would all fall into place. "I had no idea that you loved me until this moment, so why should you be any different?"

"Because . . ." she trailed off, and he took that chance to press his point.

"Alex, we've become so adept at hiding how we felt from each other because we were scared and didn't to get hurt. But we have a chance now to be honest with each other and maybe grab a hold of some of that happiness we've been striving for."

Alex wasn't responding the way he'd hoped. In fact, she wasn't responding at all. He had to make her understand how he felt; he had to. He leaned a little closer so that he was just perched on the edge of the chair and watched her until she looked back. "You're my life. How can you not believe that?"

For a second her eyes softened. But then they were all heat and fire as she frowned and shook her head. "How about because you never told me?" she burst out. "How about because you never once acted like it? How about because for a supposed genius you're the biggest fucking idiot I've ever met?"

"I am an idiot," he agreed, taking her hands from her lap and caressing them gently. "I'm the biggest fucking idiot that ever walked the face of the planet, and I'm more sorry than you'll ever know that you thought, for even a moment, that I didn't love you. But if you let me . . . please, please let me . . . I can rectify that."

"How?" a small voice asked.

"I can tell you every day how much I love you. I can show you every day how much I need you. And I can promise that if you let me, I can make you truly happy. No empty words this time, just me giving you my promise that you'll have no regrets. Can you live with that?"

He hoped that was enough, because if it wasn't then he had nothing else to give. "I . . . yeah," Alex said, smiling through her tears. "I think I can."

He was beside her in a heartbeat, kissing her face, her neck, her lips, and she somehow wound up in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, and was kissing him back.

"Tell me," he demanded between kisses, wanting, needing to hear her say it.

She cradled his head between her hands while her thumbs gently traced the outline of his lips. "I love you," she said, reinforcing it with another kiss. "And I promise that if I don't say it every day, I will definitely show it. Can you live with that?"

He didn't even have to think about it; it was a no brainer. "Absolutely."

~x~

Just the epilogue to go now. Thanks for reading! And thanks to the people who gave me gentle nudges along the way. You know who you are. :)