Author's Note: Thank you to hhtwinkle87 for all of your kind words and sweet reviews. They mean the world. I can tell that you're a writer too because you understand that it's important to write for yourself and not an audience but also how hard that is when you want people to acknowledge and interact with your work. So, thank you. :) On that note, this is for you - it's the prompt you requested about the banquet in season 4. I hope you enjoy it. xx

She looks beautiful tonight. Absolutely beautiful. She always does but there's something about the here and now, tonight, that makes her shine brighter, more confident, and maybe it's being surrounded by her people and maybe it's got nothing to do with that at all, or at least less than he's imagining, but she's different tonight. Maybe it's that he sees her differently, though it's been that way for quite some time now. He can't imagine what else…but maybe it's his urge to say those words. He's been so good at tampering them down, ignoring them for the sake of his sanity and his dignity and whatever else he stands at the risk of losing by telling Victoria Hughes that he loves her, and everything he stands to gain.

She's looking out onto the water, her salmon untouched beside her, the fork delicately in her hand as though she's going to take a piece onto it and bring it up to her mouth but she just can't bring herself to yet. The view astounds her and momentarily takes her mind off of food, or maybe it's not the view at all but that speech tonight. He was called out, there's no other way to spin it, he was called out and he feels almost cornered but when he looks at her, sitting there, the ocean breeze uplifting loose pieces of her hair and he imagines that it smells like salt, that it might feel tacky in between his fingers. He wants to take that sweater and push it off her shoulders, touch that unimaginably soft, cocoa skin, kiss it, and then, only then, will he tell her that he's head over heels in love with her. It sounds perfect.

But maybe too much has already went on tonight, and his confession would only be one thing added to both of their plates. Maybe he's selfish and rude and completely obtuse when it comes to grabbing moments because sometimes it's not about grabbing them wherever you can, it's about grabbing them when it's right. Dean's not sure if it's the right time and so he can't, and he won't, do it. Not tonight.

As he walked up to her table, he started to doubt himself and as he hot closer and he could feel her, hear her breathing in amongst the wind and the tumbling of the waves because suddenly he's so close that he could kiss her and somehow she hasn't even noticed him there. Her attention was still on the water, or whatever was on her mind and the haplessness of the ocean was just a scapegoat, and he wonders what she's thinking about so intently that makes her completely tuned out to everything else around her.

"Hey Hughie," he said to her in a soft voice, not wanting to shatter this moment for her with all the gentleness of a tiger.

Heh, see, now that he's thinking about it, that really isn't funny and he wishes he could take that back. It was probably one of the scariest moments of his life to date. And probably hers. He shakes his head imperceptivity just as she turns to him but the look in her dark, beautiful brown eyes just now says that she's noticed, and the feeling that is imperceptive movements are completely perceptive to her makes him smile. There are so many things that she does that she believes nobody takes notice of but he does and if that's something that's reciprocal between the two of them, it's a degree of an intimacy that nothing else can possibly touch.

"Hey there, Miller. What's up?"

Dean places his hands on the table, palms up, and as her hands come up from resting on her lap, he hopes that she'll take his in hers, hold them for awhile. Just so he can know what it feels like. He's wondering if Vic's just a curious as he is.

But then she doesn't make a move and he eyes their hands pointedly, on the table, not touching, hers still lady-like as much as they are hands of an amazingly skilled firefighter. She doesn't see him looking because her gaze is focused on her own hands, almost scrutinizing them, maybe wishing that she hadn't painted them for tonight. A cobalt blue. Like the ocean.

But then that hand moves, and that cobalt thumb wraps around his own thumb, and then before he can let out even the smallest nervous breath, the rest of her fingers follow suit and then…they're holding hands. Her fingers bend at the knuckle, crossing over his own knuckles and – holy crap – they're really holding hands.

There is no way that this wasn't deliberate and his heart almost stops at the thought. What is she doing?

Her eyes move up to his face, searching but not concerned, just curious. Almost like she hasn't looked at him before and is doing that for the first time, right now.

"What are you thinking about, over there?"

She asks him this gently, kindly, but there's also a softness to her words that makes it intimate, like she really does care, but that she also might care in a way that's a little past the point of friendship. Or this could just be all in his head. There's a lot going on tonight.

"You."

And suddenly, there's a lot more. Damn it. He told himself he was going to wait. Why did he do that? Why did he –

"Me?"

If it's possible, her eyes softened even more, her cheekbones slacked, her lips parted only slightly, but he knows that she's not going to say anymore, she wants him to explain himself. She's not wanting to jump the gun. He should have really taken her notes. Too late now.

"Yeah…I just – I want – I've wanted to say that for a long time I – "

Maybe it's not too late. In his peripheral vision, he saw the Chief walking across the deck and as much as Dean knew this wasn't the nicest thing he could do right now (but neither was telling her he loves her too soon, as was pointed out to him once before), he flagged him down.

"Miller, what are you doing?"

She was talking to him, asking him questions (as was her right) and as much as he wanted to answer her, he suddenly could sense that right now was not the right time for whatever reason and he should have listened to himself before he approached her like he did tonight.

"Sorry, Vic. I want to talk to the Chief for a minute. We'll talk about this later, okay?"

Before he could stop himself or think too much about the repercussions later on when they interact again and he'll have to explain it all away, he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

He pulled away but not before seeing her close her eyes at his touch and he's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad one. It's been awhile since he's kissed a woman, cheek or otherwise, and while you close your eyes to receive a kiss on the lips, he can't remember if he's ever closed his eyes when receiving a kiss on the cheek or if the woman he's kissed as done that. So, he's not sure what it means but the rest of her expression was painfully neutral so he can't glean anything from that, either. He has no idea how she's feeling, but he doesn't stick around too long to find out.

"Dean…what? Talk about what later?"

Even as he stood up and left the table, walking towards the Chief who was still walking away from him, he was watching her. He watched her eyes flutter open almost as if in disbelief over what just happened, and she had a right to feel that way, but once again her expression other than that gave nothing away. There was nothing in her voice, either, other than the obvious confusion, and that likely had more to do with his words than the kiss or maybe it had a little to do with both things.

Now, if he had known he was going to jump overboard to save their Chief not five minutes later and subsequently put his life at risk he probably would have just grown a pair and told her. Maybe. That's unclear.

But when he got out of that frigid water, miraculously alive, having gotten the weight of it off his chest by telling Ben Warren, who assured him that telling her was the right choice, he knew that he had to tell her.

He's looking into her eyes, those same eyes that had looked at him however many hours ago now and she seems worried. But there's life in her eyes, new life, like maybe the life had gone out of them and once she'd laid eyes on him again the life rushed back; it's possible then that she holds feelings for him too, and then she takes his hands, squeezes them, hard.

"I stayed with Pru. All night, okay? I didn't want her to wake up in a world where you didn't exist anymore and I wasn't there to hold her. I'm – I'm so glad she doesn't have to."

He was so proud of her. He knew that she could do it. Step up, be there for Pru, love her and support her when nobody else – when he – couldn't. She put her own grief aside to be there for his daughter and nothing else about her – nothing else – stood out to him more than that.

He let her hug him (or, well, really she was more just holding onto him so tightly like she was afraid he would evaporate before her eyes) for another minute and then, feeling bad about pulling away from her, spoke instead into her shoulder. A mouthful of suede. It was better than the salt water and it smelled like her. "Vic – I – "

She pulled away first, hearing his voice, holding is face in her hands. Her thumbs caressed his cheeks. For a stupid moment he thought she's going to kiss me. But why would she? Instead, she just talked over him, as if she didn't hear him say anything at all.

"Huh? What?"

He can't speak. He can't move. He can't…do anything but stare at her; at the way her eyes search his again in that curious way she did before what are you thinking about, over there and it suddenly feels like a lifetime ago and he's doubting his ability to breathe.

But then something in her expression changes. It's fleeting, but it's there, he sees it.

"I love you too, Miller. I love you, man."

He won't fault her for that. The words – they sounded like a friendship I love you but the look on her face, in her eyes, that fucking expression…the renewed life, the vigor, the visceral tug from the bottom of his stomach that's telling him she has that same yearning, the same longing for him that he has for her.

She just wasn't ready to face it and that's okay. Telling her that he loves her too soon…it would have irreparable damage and he doesn't want that.

So, he'll wait. He'll wait until she's ready and he has a feeling that she'll let him know exactly when that is. He just has to be patient. She's worth it.