Luke

Strawberries and silk.

Wedding bells and disco balls.

The magic of her smile and the moon over Morocco and memories of a thousand lives, most of them lived with her.

These were the things she smelled like when he drew her closer into his arms. He closed his eyes, leaned forward, drinking her up. It had been a hell of a long time since he'd been allowed to do this.

After a long moment, he rolled away, gently, his fingers still moving idly over her hair. He'd always loved her hair. Long, golden, sun-kissed and free. It made a man think forbidden thoughts. It made a man feel innocent even when he wasn't.

His golden-haired girl. His benediction. His angel. Twenty years gone and he still felt wonder when he held her in his arms.

She made a small noise, almost a sigh, and he looked down, startled. He hadn't known she could still make noises he didn't know. He chuckled, lightly, so as not to wake her. He should have known, should have remembered. She had always had the power to surprise him. He had very little doubt she always would.

He lifted his head, looking past hers to the clock on the bedside table. It used to be on his side of the bed, when this bed was still theirs. Things change. Three o'clock. He lay back down, one elbow underneath his head. He hadn't figured that this night would be a sleepless one.

But here he is, three am, and so far from sleep that he marvels when he looks at her, lying in the curve of his arm so easily. The rise and fall of her chest is so simple, so goddamn gorgeous. It takes his breath away.

Doesn't make it come easier, unfortunately. Ah well. He's spent more than a few sleepless nights before. No better place to do it than in her arms. Even if her arms are the reason he can't sleep in the first place.

They've had their ending, see, too many times over. And, there's only so many times a phoenix can rise from the ashes. And, when he holds her, even though he's fought like hell to have the right again, he's still wonderin' how long before it ends.

Because that's the other thing Laura's always been. Something he was never supposed to have.

White picket fences and bridges long ago burnt.

Sunlight in her hair and prayers he never believed in.

Surprises and endings.

These are the things he holds in her bed at three o'clock in the morning. The things he knows by heart, the reason he can't sleep. His past and hers. Surprises and endings; he waits for them both. 'Cause the one thing he knows is true -- both are coming.