Author's note: Many thanks to the always fabulous Bella7 for the use of Untamed Savanna, a secret indulgence first revealed in her story, "Addiction." If you haven't read it, go now! Read now!

Calleigh couldn't sleep. It came as no surprise, considering the roller coaster of the last twenty-four hours, but her brain wouldn't shut off. Eric had left work almost an hour ahead of her, so her dinner had been cold pizza and a soda during the first half-hour of Wife Swap. The tension between them hadn't quite dissipated, and she'd supposed there were things they should have talked about, but it hadn't seemed the time. Still, they'd managed to crack a few smiles over the ridiculousness of the two families before Calleigh had excused herself to take her bath.

She'd returned a moment later, laughing and clutching a crisp new paperback book – Untamed Savanna by Precious Winters. "Eric?" she'd asked him, and as soon as he saw her cargo, he'd given her one of those schoolboy grins she loved so much. "Did you buy this on your way home from work?"

He'd shrugged and told her he'd figured she should have something to read in the bath, and she'd laughed again and crossed to the bed, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

"You," she'd murmured, "Are a wonderful, wonderful man. And I'm sorry that I am such a mess today."

"You already apologized."

"I know. But I wanted to say it again before I disappear into the bathroom to reacquaint myself with Angelo and Savanna and their harrowing love story." She'd kissed him again, softly, before warning, "And if you ever tell anyone about this-"

"You'll kill me. I know." He'd smirked, given her a playful nudge. "Now go; I want to see how granola mom does with the weight trainers."

Two hours later, she'd finally emerged from the bath, wrinkled like a prune and still absorbed in her book. He'd gone to the gym upstairs while she was soaking, so he'd hopped in the shower as soon as the bathroom was free, and between the white noise of the shower spray and the steady stream of words on the page in front of her, she'd found her eyes drooping. By the time he'd finished, she'd been dozing lightly, and when he'd slid into the bed with her, waking her, he'd insisted she just sleep. They could talk later.

Of course it was just her luck that her little catnap combined with his wake-up call to leave her wide-awake and restless. Now she couldn't get comfortable, couldn't get quiet. The chasm of space between their bodies had her mind wandering back to that morning, heart clenching every time she replayed the fight. With a heavy sigh, she flopped onto her back again, staring up into the dark. This was ridiculous. She needed to sleep. She was tired, and she needed to sleep. And she… couldn't.

When he shifted ever so slightly beside her, she turned her head, squinting in an attempt to make out his silhouette, but it was too dark. "Eric?" she breathed, not wanting to wake him if he was already out. "Are you awake?"

He grunted softly, then managed a "mmhmm."

"Will you lay with me?" she requested softly, not entirely sure what his response would be. A little of her anxiety eased when she felt him shift behind her, rolling onto his side only inches away. She turned dutifully onto her side as well, scooting back until her back was pressed to his chest, their legs tangling as she pillowed her head on his arm. There was something Pavlovian about being in his arms, she mused, marveling at the way her body began to relax almost immediately when his other arm settled over her, sliding up until his fingers hooked against her shoulder. She covered his arm with hers, laced their fingers.

"Better?" he murmured into her hair and she nodded. "What's keeping you up?"

"Thinking."

"Quit it," he told her, and she could hear the slight smirk in his voice.

"Wish I could." She shifted a little, wiggled her shoulders back until she found just the right spot.

"Talk to me?" he requested, voice so soft and hesitant that she'd have lost it in the rustle of sheets if she'd still been moving. It was no surprise he was tentative in light of the grand mal hissy she'd thrown that morning after opening up to him. No time like the present to try again, though, so she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"You really hurt me this morning," she confessed quietly, her words sounding louder in the silent room than the whisper that they actually were. "I know you... didn't mean it, and you just said it because you were hurt, but… you are the last person I ever expected to take something I told you – and only you – and use it to hurt me. That's why I told you, because I knew it would be okay. I knew it would be safe with you. And then it wasn't, and it hurt. A lot." She could feel the tears behind her closed lids, and hated them like she hated the slight tremble in her voice.

She felt his face press into her hair, felt the slow, warm exhale of his breath against the back of her neck. After a moment, she heard his muffled, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Yeah," she replied, blinking her eyes back open in the dark. "You did. But it's okay. People hurt each other when they fight. I hurt you." He nodded, and she traced her fingers over his arm. "Do you need to talk? About your parents, about everything?"

"No," he answered a little too quickly.

"Eric… I know this is kind of pot-and-kettle, but you shouldn't keep things bottled. You can talk to me, always, about anything. You know that, right?"

"I do," he assured, tracing a fingertip along the curve of her shoulder and making her squirm at the slight tickle. "But I don't want to talk right now. Not about me, anyway."

She sighed, kept up the slow, lazy strokes against his arm. "I'm sorry I closed up this morning. I should have said something… better." She turned in his arms suddenly, shifting to face him and looping an arm over his ribs. "And don't be jealous of Jake," she insisted quietly, giving him a light squeeze. "Don't ever be jealous of Jake. You have nothing to be jealous of, Eric."

He shrugged, brushing her hair away from her neck and let his hand stroke over her spine. "I know that. I mean, logically, I get that. But you guys have a history, and-"

"So do we," she reminded, shimmying down to tuck her head beneath his chin and pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

"I know that, I just mean… He knows things about you that I don't. He has your past."

She tipped her head up, held him tight. "And you have my now. And my future."

"Not if…" He trailed off, sighed, and gave her a squeeze that was nothing compared to the vice grip of anxiety those two words had clamped around her heart.

"Not if what?"

"You have to let me in, Cal. You have to let me close, or I can't do this with you. I can't have half of you, or some of you, or the clean and easy parts of you. I want every messy bit of Calleigh Duquesne I can get, so if you're going to hold back on me, tell me now and we'll just… pretend this week never happened, I guess."

She pressed her face against him again, shook her head, and murmured against the cotton of his shirt, "I can't do that."

"Then I can't do this," he told her gently, regretfully.

"No, I mean I can't forget. I can't forget what it feels like to be like this with you." She took a deep breath, then pushed herself back up until their breath mingled, faces only inches apart. "I've never…" Another sigh, and she swallowed against the knot of nerves in her throat. "You snuck up on me. I've never felt this way with anyone, and I'm just… scared."

"Of what?"

"Messing this up," she admitted, barely above a breath. "I can't walk away, and I can't…" She sighed, tangled herself even closer. "I want to give you what you want from me, but I need time. I need you to give me time to adjust, okay?" He nodded, pressed his lips to hers for a few lazy, soothing kisses.

They were quiet for a moment before she told him softly, "I love you," and felt his lips curve against hers as he leaned in for another kiss. He'd been free with the phrase over the last several days, offering it up to her whenever he felt she needed it, but in typical fashion, she'd kept it close. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd told him and still have fingers left. It was a gift, a peace offering, something to tide him over while he waited for her to settle into this, into them.

And he must have known that, must have taken it for what it was, because he murmured a quiet thank you, and dotted kisses on the end of her nose, her forehead, her temple. "Me too," he told her, then rolled onto his back and tugged her with him until her head was against his chest, his chin resting against her brow. They laid like that for a while, Calleigh listening to the beat of his heart, her brain still buzzing around an idea, a suggestion. When she felt Eric's hand begin to slow its lazy strokes against her hair, she finally spoke up.

"Eric…"

"Mm."

"My, um… My offer still stands."

She felt him frown as he settled his arm against her shoulders. "What offer?"

"I have a guest bedroom. If it's that or another cheap motel… I'd rather you stay with me. We'll just have to work out time for-"

He cut her off, shushed her, and shook his head. "I talked to H. They're going to put a detail on my condo, so I can move back there. Hard to deny a request for protection to the guy who's been targeted by the mob."

Just the thought lanced jittery anxiety through her, and she tightened the arm sprawled across him. "Oh." It was all she could think of to say. 'Thank God' didn't seem appropriate, however true it was.

"Besides, I don't think you were lying this morning. You need your space. Living together wouldn't be good for us."

"I want you safe. If that's what it took to keep you safe, I'd do it."

He chuckled slightly, held her tighter, and pressed a kiss to her brow. "Your place isn't exactly bulletproof. I'd just be putting you in more danger, not me in less."

She was about to ask if that meant he wouldn't spend nights with her when a thought occurred to her. She levered up onto her elbow and frowned down on him—not that it was effective in the dark. For all she knew, from this angle she could be scowling at his Adam's apple instead of his eyes. "If you have a detail on your apartment, I can't be there. I mean, I certainly can't stay there. IAB will find out in a heartbeat, and it will be a disaster."

"We'll work it out, Calleigh," he assured, flattening his hand against her back to ease her body against his again.

She resisted, shaking her head. "No, Eric, IAB can't find out about this. If they know we're together, they'll move one of us. This isn't like Jake and me; we worked in different departments. We'll-"

"Calleigh," he interrupted, chuckling. "They aren't tailing me, just keeping an eye out when I can't. We can still go out, we can still have lots of hot, sweaty sex at your place, I can still spend the night if I tell them I have a date and I'm not coming home. We'll work it out."

She huffed and deflated against him finally, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I want you safe," she relented with a sigh, grateful he couldn't see the entirely immature pout on her face. "But we're going to get caught."

"No, we're not. It's only temporary. When we get this whole thing worked out and my father isn't trying to take me out anymore," She felt his body tense as he spoke and pressed another kiss to his chest, then another, a fourth. "No more surveillance."

"So, what? We just sneak around like a couple of teenagers after curfew for the next few weeks? Months?"

"Yes," he answered simply, wrapping his arms around her again and urging her to settle in again. "But don't worry about that anymore tonight, okay? Just get some rest."

"I'm not going to be able to sleep now," she grumped, but she found herself a comfortable spot anyway, and moaned softly when one of his hands rose to massage her neck gently.

"Sure, you are. Just shut your brain off."

"I can't do that."

"Fine. Count sheep."

"That never works. The sheep turn into the things I have to worry about, and then I'm stuck listing every distraction and—"

"Fine. Count my heartbeats."

"What?" She tipped her head up; he nudged it back down.

"Listen to my heart, and count the beats."

"That won't work."

"Humor me," he chuckled, and with a sigh, she did. She counted one, two, three, and up and up, got distracted around sixty-two and squirmed against him, earning herself a "Stop worrying," and a "Start over." She forced her mind clear, focused on the feel of him beneath her, the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. Somewhere around two hundred, she decided that maybe they would be okay, so long as she could fall asleep to this every once in a while, and by the time the hypnotic rhythm finally lulled her off somewhere around three hundred and twelve, she was at peace.