For mattyfresh, PlainJane1, Sierra Jae, blaue-banane, Greys, Dementedx, jilly74 and Wemmamazing. Thank you all so much for your massive outpouring of support! I grinned straight through my closing shift, so now my coworkers think I'm insane, and it's all thanks to you. An extra thank you and an imaginary fruit basket for PlainJane1, who was kind enough to evangelize on the story's behalf and even nabbed a convert, yay. Dementedx also gets an imaginary fruit basket for giving me the word "Wonor". I was thinking "Schuestereagh" and that just doesn't have the same ring.

Also and always for traceit. She's my hero, working tirelessly to make sure I don't post anything that sucks, for example this chapter back when it sucked. If you think anything I post sucks, it's my fault not hers.

Please skip this chapter if you're offended by, or too young to read, graphic adult content. The story will... Probably cease to make any sense at all, this is a kind of important chapter.

25

Twenty minutes later, I was knocking on his door. It was reckless and foolhardy, unimaginably stupid, because the paparazzi were literally camped out in front of the hotel just waiting for me to do exactly what I had done. Emma had tried to stop me, had even offered to arrange a meeting sometime before the show on some kind of neutral ground, safe from the press. She pointed out that one grainy picture of me anywhere near Will and the entire campaign to restore my reputation would all be for naught. And you know what? I could not possibly have cared less. If there was a chance, any chance, no matter how insignificant, that what she had said might be true, any chance at all, I had to see Will. Immediately. So I'd thanked her politely (and sincerely, but I was in a hurry) and sent her on her way. I'd resurrected my Honor Castlereagh/Clark Kent disguise (glasses and a hat), called room service to order a snack (misdirection), and walked right out the front door (balls/stupidity).

Armed with directions reluctantly provided by Emma, I'd made the short walk to his apartment building as quickly, and stealthily, as I could. It was bitterly cold, the wind biting stinging sharp, and I huddled against it, trying not to shake. I was beginning to regret my impulse to do this, regret not listening to Emma's advice, and not just because it was freezing; the more I thought about it, the more I realized I had no idea what to say if/when he appeared. There wasn't anything I could say, honestly, no persuasive speech I could make. The best I could do was apologize, tell him the truth, tell him I loved him and then beg. Abjectly. On my hands and knees if necessary. Just one year ago I'd have been horrified by the thought, incapable of thinking it much less doing it, but knowing what life had been like without him, pride ceased to be a consideration. Which is kind of pathetic now that I think about it, but true nonetheless.

And then the door opened, his face mildly curious for a brief moment before he realized who was standing in front of him, at which point the mild curiosity fled, and he was staring at me in shock. His expression was identical to the one I would have worn if I'd suddenly seen him at Spaceland in LA, no anger, no surprise, just the blank incomprehension of someone seeing something so unexpected they don't even know how to process it. This reaction was either a good thing or a bad thing, I had no idea which, but mine was very different. For me, it was as though the sight of him shifted something inside, took everything that was broken in me and reassembled it, but in a way that was both therapeutic and very painful. My heart rate accelerated, and I stared at him without blinking because I couldn't stand the thought of losing even that split second of time that could be better spent taking him in.

He was wearing sweats and a t-shirt, his hair tousled, and I imagined I'd interrupted him watching TV or reading in bed. There were faint shadows under his eyes, as though he hadn't been sleeping well, and the lines near his mouth might have been deeper, but to me he was just as beautiful as the first time I'd seen him. Even more beautiful because now he was so dear to me. I wanted to go to him, cross his threshold and throw myself into his arms, but I hadn't expected him to welcome me into them and it didn't look like he was going to. So I just smiled tremulously before speaking.

"Hey." (Look, I was at a loss for words, okay? What would you say in this situation? Come on.)

He blinked several times, rapidly, as though to clear his vision of whatever made it look like I was in front of him. "Honor?" he asked, incredulous. "What are you doing here?"

I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He didn't appear upset, precisely, but he definitely didn't seem to be happy to see me… Not that I blamed him, but I had hoped just a little. "Looking for you."

"Why?" he demanded flatly.

Definitely not happy. "I just… Needed to see you. Talk to you. Apologize, if you'll let me."

He closed his eyes. "This is not a good idea."

"I know," I said, and my voice had never sounded so soft, so sad. "Believe me, I know. But I'm here anyway. Will, please-"

I'm not entirely sure what I'd planned to ask for. His time, his forgiveness? Whatever it was, all thought of it disappeared when he stepped forward, took my hand, pulled me inside, closed the door and pushed me up against it, seemingly in one smooth motion. Then he cradled my face in his hands and pressed his lips to mine, hard. It was… Probably the last thing I'd expected, and I wasn't naïve enough to think it meant everything, or anything, was settled between us. There was a desperation in the way he held me still, a desperation in the way his mouth moved, and I knew this wasn't any kind of resolution but rather the beginning of a very long, very intense argument. But it felt so good just to be near him again, so good to feel him against me, and I wrapped my arms around him because I'd thought I'd never have the chance again.

He was warm and solid, utterly real, and I could feel him breathing and hear his heart beat and I knew this wasn't a dream so it was perfect. His hands finally released my face, one sliding into my hair, tangling roughly in the waves at the base of my neck, while the other clutched at my waist, gripping me so tightly it was painful. It didn't matter, I didn't care. I knew it was entirely possible this was the last time I'd ever see him, and I wanted whatever I could get, wanted to remember every detail in case it had to last me for the rest of my life. Biting my lower lip just hard enough to make me open for him, he pressed his tongue inside, deepening the kiss, leaving me breathless. The taste of him, the feel of him, everything was sharper than I remembered, and I kissed him back with equal desperation, equal roughness.

Suddenly, the bruising pressure of his mouth on mine lifted, and he was leaning back against the wall in front of me, several feet of distance between us. He was breathing heavily as he passed his hand over his face, through his hair, staring at me with an unreadable expression. I felt bereft, disoriented, confused. But I was inside at least, would have the chance to say what I'd come to say. If I could gather my thoughts well enough for coherent speech, anyway.

"What are you doing here?" he repeated, voice low and harsh. It would have been impossible to believe he'd been kissing me so passionately just moments before, if not for his lips, darkened and swollen with the pressure he'd exerted on mine.

"I told you," I whispered. "I needed to see you." He had thrown me completely off balance, and now I was even more unsure of what to say, terrified to say it.

"Now?" he demanded. "After a year? After the three months of hell the press put me through, after everything has settled down, after everything you said? What more could you possibly have to say?"

I flinched at his mocking tone, but of course I deserved it. "Will, please," I said softly. "I thought staying away would be the best thing for you. And I thought… You and Emma, I wanted you two to be happy. I didn't want to get in the way."

He laughed bitterly. "Right, me and Emma."

Seeing the half angry, half wistful look on his face, my guilt intensified. "I didn't know you weren't together, I thought-"

"It doesn't matter," he interrupted. "I'm not proud of the way I treated Emma. But we would have been happy, I think, if I'd never met you." His voice as he said this was accusatory, and his words fit in neatly with every accusation I'd ever leveled at myself, and it hurt.

I met his gaze and hoped he could see all the emotions in my eyes, because there weren't words strong enough to express my remorse. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can't… I can't say it enough."

"No," he agreed, and his voice sounded so terribly final. "You can't. I think you should leave, Honor. Norah. There isn't anything else to say."

He was wrong, there was so much more, not that I thought any of it would change his mind. But I was here, and so was he, and I just… I wanted him. With me, for me. I had to know I'd done everything I could to apologize, everything I could to try to make things right for us, or else I'd spend the rest of my life being driven crazy by what if.

I didn't move when he stepped forward to open the door to let me out, and he was close to me again, close enough that I could feel his warmth. Once more, I tried to remember every detail, his scent, his face, because this was certainly not going well and any hope I might have had was draining away. His eyes were dark and opaque, whatever he was feeling hidden so well behind them that I couldn't even guess at it.

"Will, please. Just let me…" I trailed off, frustrated, because I hadn't prepared any of this and his eyes were so unnerving, leaving me with no way to gauge his reaction. "You said you could forgive me for the scandal, for lying to you, if I wanted you to, and I… You cannot imagine how much I wanted you to. But you have to understand, I was so frightened, so upset about Emma. All I could think of was making sure you'd never get close enough to hurt me again, and that's why… I said what I said." There's nothing, Will, nothing that makes you so special.

I looked at him again, hoping to see something, anything in his gaze, in the twist of his lips, anything, but his face was granite, smooth, expressionless. "I was wrong. I didn't know… I didn't understand what I was feeling. And this last year has been… Empty. And I realized that my life was always like that, I just hadn't noticed before, and I need you okay? I need you in it, or else I can't…" I stopped, because there wasn't anything meant to go after that word. It felt like without him, I couldn't do anything, or didn't want to.

"What are you trying to say?" he asked, and his voice was like his eyes, like his expression, hard and blank. I felt so naked, so vulnerable, and he was keeping himself hidden from me, and I hated it. What I was doing was against every instinct I'd ever had. Every defense I'd built was obliterated; I'd torn down every wall inside me, cast off all my armor, and if he hurt me this time, there would be nothing for me to hide behind. But then, none of those things had done me any good before. But then it was still terrifying.

"I love you," I said, and it was so much easier than I'd expected it to be, considering I'd never said those words to anyone. So I repeated it. "I love you, and I… I don't even care if you love me, I just want a chance. Just say there's a chance."

He took a step closer, and I tried once more to find any sign of a response. There was none; if anything, his façade had hardened. "This isn't fair of you, Honor. To do what you did, say what you said, disappear, reappear… Lie."

"Please. Please," I whispered. "I love you. I love you. If nothing else I want your forgiveness. What do you want? I can't tell what you're thinking and it's killing me. In all of this, what do you want?"

One more step closer and he was pinning me against the door again, and for a second I thought I saw something in his face, something in his eyes, something soft, or at least softer. But it disappeared before I could identify it, and the mask was in place again. He reached out to brush my hair out of my eyes, tuck it behind my ear, and the gesture was so familiar I wanted to cry. Still, I didn't think his utter blankness was a good sign.

"I want to forget you," he said finally, almost tenderly, and I closed my eyes tightly because I couldn't hide the pain in them. Then his mouth was on mine, firm, demanding, and I responded because, again, I wanted whatever I could get, would have to remember everything and make it last forever. I didn't think for a single second that whatever was happening meant anything other than goodbye.

He kissed me deeply, as desperately as before, and I kissed him as though if I just pressed my lips to his hard enough I could change his mind. I knew nothing would. His hands moved all over my body, almost frantic, slipping under my sweater to grip my waist hard, skin to skin, hold me against him even as his body was forced against mine. My hands were the same, exploring his back and shoulders under his shirt, marking him with my nails, clutching him to me. The hardness between his legs was obvious as he ground into me, and the fact that it felt good, that I was even capable of feeling pleasure after what we'd just discussed, was almost shocking. But not quite. It's… God, it's difficult to explain, but if this was all I could have of him I wanted it.

I moved my hands down past his waist, taking his sweatpants with me. They pooled around his feet, and he kicked them away while simultaneously attacking the button on my jeans. He was painfully hard, and he gasped when I touched his cock, groaned against my mouth as I stroked it. There were secrets I had learned about him, secrets I remembered, and I used every single one of them to make him incoherent with need, teasing him with my thumb, skimming my fingertips along his length. After a minute of this slow torture and some increasingly frustrated fumbling, he managed to get my pants undone, and he shoved them down past my hips even as he lifted his head to bury his face in my hair. His lips trailed biting, sucking kisses all over my throat, teeth scraping over my pulse. Then there was the sudden feel of his hand between my legs, rubbing me hard through the wet silk of my panties, and I inhaled sharply as he pushed them aside. Dispensing with the formalities, he slid two long fingers deep inside me, stretching me until I cried out, arching up against him, wrapping my legs around him.

He moved his fingers in and out, the motion almost rough, almost painful but in the way I'd always loved, and his thumb brushed my clit with just enough pressure to drive me insane. I moaned in frustration- I was wet, he was ready, this was taking too long- and guided him to me; he seemed to take the hint and withdrew his fingers, positioning the head of his cock to enter me. But then he paused for a moment, holding himself completely still, and murmured "This isn't fair of me," his lips forming the words on the skin of my neck as though he couldn't quite bring himself to remove them even to speak.

"I don't care," I answered, and it was true.

"Honor-" he began, finally raising his head, but I cut him off abruptly.

"Stop talking," I ordered or begged, writhing against him. "Just stop." And then I pulled his face to mine and kissed him deeply for the dual purposes of tasting him and shutting him up (remarkably effective on both counts).

Token resistance conquered, he finally pushed into me, and I tightened my legs around his waist, forcing him deeper. He pressed his tongue into my mouth, mimicking the actions of his lower body, and began to thrust in hard, measured strokes. Everything was rushed, hurried, with no slow buildup of pleasure. We were both already wound so tightly it wasn't necessary. His cock pounded into me faster and faster, with no subtlety or even any particular skill, but the angle was absolutely perfect, stimulating my clit until I literally couldn't take it anymore. I shattered in his arms, coming apart in ecstasy, and like everything else this feeling was sharper than I remembered, desperate and painful, transcendent. Even as I broke, he followed, coming inside me, and I held him hard to me, willing it to last just a little longer, just…

He rested himself against me for a moment, after, his cheek against mine, his breath warm on my skin. Then he moved his head slightly, framed my face with his hands, touched his trembling lips to my forehead for the briefest second before pulling away. This, more than anything else, felt like a farewell, and I closed my eyes tightly to hold back tears. I didn't have much pride left at this point, but I refused to cry in front of him, didn't want him to remember me as being so weak. When I opened them again, he was leaning back against the opposite wall once more, looking at me with an unfathomable expression on his face.

I looked at him and felt... Longing, a deep, deep longing to hold him to me and refuse to let him go, just refuse, because I couldn't, didn't want to. But he was already so far away. And if my heart hadn't been broken already, I think I'd have felt it break right then, looking at him, knowing I would never hold him again.

"I shouldn't have done that," he said quietly. "I… Didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

I attempted to smile, failed. "I'm not. I wanted…" to hold you, you to hold me, to touch you, you to touch me, to love you, you to love me… "I don't know. To pretend, maybe."

There was a slight crack in his façade, just enough to show a hint of what might have been self-directed anger. "I didn't mean to be cruel."

This time, I did manage a smile, albeit a small one. That was the difference between us, I supposed. Last year, I had lashed out and hurt him just to keep myself safe, purposely, and a part of me had enjoyed it. And in spite of everything, Will worried about being cruel to me. I almost wished he would be; god knows I deserved it. "Please, Will. We both know you'd never mean to be cruel. Unlike me, you're incapable of it."

He just shook his head, pressing his lips into a thin, sad line.

I finished dressing in silence, watching him watching me, and I have no idea what he might have seen on my face because I have no idea exactly what I was feeling. Shock, probably; I was barely used to processing one emotion at a time, much less all of these conflicting ones. Opening the door, I knew I should leave, had to leave, because I had lost, but I just... Had to try, just once more, had to, and I didn't care how desperate it made me look; it could hardly make me look more desperate than I felt, because desperation was tearing me up from the inside out. I turned back to him.

"I could forgive you for this, you know," I whispered, willing my voice not to break. "For all of this, if you wanted me to. Please change your mind. Come to me before I leave."

He shook his head again, refused to meet my eyes. "I want to forget you."

God, those words hurt just as much as the first time he'd said them, because they implied that he regretted ever knowing me, that he wished he could erase me from his life. And he probably did. I wouldn't blame him for it. "Then I hope you can," I responded, and I meant it, really meant it, even though the thought of it killed me. "I just… I hope you're happy. That you will be."

I waited a moment, wishing he would look at me, say something, anything, but he didn't. Will, don't do this. But he was, and I didn't have any choice in the matter. So I left. And I swear to you I didn't cry until I got back to the hotel. Much.

TBC