A/N: My apologies for the wait for this chapter. Real life has a way of slowing down my writing, and this chapter wasn't the easiest to manage under any circumstances. I'm a big believer in realism, and I prefer it to the "fantasy" that most romances seem to fall into. Reality is romantic enough, given enough love and care. In any case, there is a love scene to follow (although it's one I don't think would disapprove of – it is NOT a sex scene). It's not particularly graphic, but you'll definitely get the general idea. I just wanted you to be warned. My sincere thanks to all who have taken the time to read and review. It's those little bits of encouragement that keep me writing, and you'll never know how much it means to me. With that said, on with the story... Chapter 7

Gil looked down at the beautiful woman in his arms and wondered how in hell he had gotten to this point.

He supposed that it would be easier to pinpoint the exact moment if it hadn't happened so gradually. What had started with one night on his couch had somehow changed into more than the occasional sleepover. He had found that he liked having her there, and over a period of a few weeks she had even brought over enough things that she could get ready for work without going home first. He couldn't say that he minded it. She was comfortable to have around, even when she was driving him to distraction, and there was a certain satisfaction to seeing her toothbrush sitting next to his on the sink.

A week before, they had dealt with a case that had been particularly gruesome. Young women had been raped, killed, and dumped. While they were able to identify the killer almost immediately from fingerprints, finding him had been another matter entirely. They had found three victims before the man had been caught, and none of the team had slept during that period.

All of the women had been around Sara's age and living alone, but those had been the only similarities. The victims had been blond, fragile, and generally easy targets because of their need to walk to and from work by way of a local park. That had been a piece of the puzzle that they had struggled with, because the body dumps had been miles north of the place they were abducted from. It had been a tense week, and everyone had been on edge. When it was done, and the suspect in custody after admitting to the crimes, the team had gone out for a grand celebration. But Sara hadn't been celebrating.

Gil had noticed at the restaurant how quiet she had been, but he chalked it up to fatigue and nerves. She didn't drink anything, so she offered to drive them back to his place and he let her. He'd only had a couple of drinks, but there was no reason not to be safe. Then they had gotten ready for bed, he'd gone to his bedroom, and she'd settled in on the couch.

Less than an hour later, he'd heard her. Once, she had told him indirectly that she had nightmares about their cases. He hadn't exactly forgotten it, but neither had he seen one in full force. That night he had, and he wasn't sure which of them had been more frightened. She had smacked him a couple of times as he tried to wake her, but once it was done she had crumbled. Sara Sidle was perhaps the strongest woman he'd ever known – to include his mother – and seeing her like that had torn something apart inside him. He had held her, spoke softly to her, but none of it felt like it was enough. She had held on to him with a death grip; he still had the bruises.

Sara had cried for over an hour before she was able to speak. She had confirmed that the nightmare had been related to the case, but she refused to give him any details. He had brought her a glass of water, cleaned her face with a washcloth, and then he settled in to sit with her. But despite his presence, she didn't sleep. She stared at the ceiling, her body shaking at random intervals, and sniffles coming occasionally.

He had been tired, but more so he had been worried. Finally, he had put his arms around her and taken her to his bed. She hadn't really seemed confused, but she still wasn't oriented enough to argue. He had tucked her beneath the covers, laid down next to her, and had just held her. Sometime in the daylight hours, sleep had finally found them both, and gratefully there had been no more nightmares.

They had been off work the following night, and spent it watching television and playing cards. When it came time to go to bed she had gone to the cupboard for her linens. He had met her there, taken her hands, and had taken her to his bed. Physically, they hadn't done any more than hold one another, but he found that he liked it. She curled into his arms so trustingly, and she was so beautiful and unguarded when she slept. She looked vulnerable, and for just that time he felt like he could actually protect her from the world. It was a childish notion, but it was how he felt.

Those nights had set a pattern, and for the last two nights she had slept with him. Yesterday she had gone home to pay her bills and water her plants, but the rest of her days had been spent with him. She didn't push for more, and didn't pull back from what he offered. She just let him set the pace, which left him feeling inadequate and guilty. He didn't know what she wanted, but he knew that he wanted to give it to her. For the millionth time in his life, he wished that he could pick up on the signals that everyone else seemed to see. He wished that he could figure out what she really wanted from him.

And this afternoon was no different. The sunshine was barely peeking through the dark curtains that he'd purchased when he'd transferred to night shift years before, and he could see the soft expression on her face, the simple relaxation that was never there when she was awake. Sara was full-speed straight-ahead when she was awake, and rarely slowed down long enough to sit, much less relax. Seeing her this way seemed like a gift, and he was taking full advantage of it.

She shifted against him, her knee moving between his legs as she cuddled closer, and his body had its inevitable reaction. He took a few deep breaths, realizing that she didn't have a clue what she was doing while she slept. After a moment he was able to relax again. But Sara wasn't finished. She usually slept with her arms around herself, almost protectively. Today, she had one arm over his body and the other beneath her pillow. This brought them chest to chest, and despite his t-shirt and her flannel pajamas, the sensation was more than comfortable; it was wonderful.

He watched her a moment more, assuring himself that she was well and truly out, before he moved a few strands of hair off her face with one finger. He tucked the hair behind her ear, and leaned down to kiss her gently on the temple. It wasn't supposed to be an arousing action, but under the circumstances he found it was just that. Between her close proximity, the clean smell of her hair, and the softness of her skin he was… lost. He brushed his lips up along her face, placing a kiss on her forehead, and then moved down to gently kiss her lips.

He knew the instant she was awake. The arm which had been slack around him now tugged him in tight, and lips that had been still began to move against his. The movements themselves were nothing more than what they had shared for weeks, but something about the horizontal positioning and the warmth of her sleepy body intensified the sensations. Gil found himself becoming tense, wondering what the hell he had started, and then wondering why he couldn't just turn his damned mind off for just a moment and be human.

"Mmm," she mumbled, nuzzling into his neck. "Nice way to wake up."

He had to smile at that. Sara never had been one to hide what she was feeling, at least not with any real success. He wished that he could be that way, and with her – for the most part – he was. He had learned to talk to her, and she had learned to listen past the words he found to understand the meaning he intended. He had actually become comfortable with touching her, and having her touch him. Honestly, this was the only wall still standing between them, and he wasn't sure why it was there.

She had assured him and reassured him that his appearance wasn't an issue, that she was his regardless of whether or not they ever took this step, and that the choice had to be his. It was almost funny in a sick kind of way. She didn't push because she didn't want to push him away, and he didn't move because he was afraid she would back away. The bottom line in both of them was that they wanted to stay close, and it seemed flat-out stupid that the way he had chosen to keep them close was to keep them apart. So much for higher learning.

He moved his hand from beneath where it had been pillowing his head and slid it around and down beneath her. She shifted to accommodate the motion, and he found himself holding her as close as he was being held. She didn't move away from him, but snuggled in even closer, her head below his chin, and her breath warm against his chest.

When her arm started moving, he didn't think a lot of it. She was probably ready to get up for work, early though it was. But before he could release her, he felt timid fingers at the hem of his t-shirt, and then beneath it, and then traveling steadily upwards. Her eyes were closed, but whether to increase her concentration or to block out his reaction he couldn't be sure. Either way, he sucked in a breath and watched her as she moved one hand up beneath his shirt to caress his chest, to explore territory that he hadn't allowed her before. When her fingertips passed over a single, hard point of sensation he tensed again, and her hand stopped… right… there. She looked up at him, the question in her eyes. Should she stop?

He wished he knew how to answer her. Yes, she should stop because he didn't want this messed up. No, she mustn't stop because he needed it, wanted it. Yes, she should stop because their friendship was too important to be compromised and he didn't want to take even the slightest risk of going back to the days when she couldn't talk to him. No, she couldn't stop, because every single word, and action, and argument, and feeling had led them to this very moment.

As usual, his silence became a misinterpreted answer in itself, and her hand moved down just as her eyes did, disappointment clear in her expression. Oddly, it was that disappointment, that knowledge that she had wanted this too, that decided him. He placed his hand over hers and moved it back up to where it had been, feeling his heart speed up at her touch. Her gaze was surprised, so he gave her what he could manage of a smile and a gentle kiss to her forehead. "All yours," he told her carefully. "Do what… you want."

"What about what you want?" she asked earnestly.

The smile gained some intensity. This was his Sara, always worried about everyone except herself. "What I want would get us arrested," he told her with a wink. "So let's start with you."

Her eyes became impossibly wide as she digested the words, and then she smiled. A single shift brought her arm from beneath her pillow, and he found two hands on his chest, two hands swirling patterns, tickling the most unlikely places, and finally sliding around his back to hold him tightly. He was grateful for that; another few minutes, and any further action on his part would have been academic. Pathetic, he thought to himself. He had often thought that he could come apart just looking at her, but he hadn't realized how close to the truth it was. Looking at her while she touched him with such obvious enjoyment had brought him so close to the edge that he really didn't want to think about it. Instead, he held her tightly and took deep breaths, trying to calm a body that had been denied for far too long.

"Okay?" she asked uncertainly.

"Fine," he said, and took another breath. "Just… remember that I…" He took another breath before pulling back enough to meet her eyes. "I don't want you to be disappointed."

She watched him earnestly before asking, "Does it feel good?"

He didn't have to give her words. He smiled, and her returned smile told him that she understood him perfectly.

"Then I'm not disappointed," she said simply. "This isn't just for me, Gil. Your feelings count, too. If I'm out of line, or if something bothers you, I expect for you to tell me."

"You think you're full of surprises?" he asked with a grin.

She smiled at him then, but the glint in her eye was more mischievous than humorous. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then trailed her tongue down to his lips. She paused there for a moment, kissing him deeply, and then she was off again. With the tip of her tongue, she left a moist trail down his jaw, to his neck, and then around the neckline of his shirt. From there she moved up, stopping at his Adam's apple and sucking gently before raising up to face him. "Surprised?"

"Maybe," he admitted.

She grinned at him. "Can I take the shirt off?"

"Yours or mine?"

She shook her head at the seriousness of the question. He hadn't meant it as a joke; he honestly wasn't sure how she wanted to start this. Were they supposed to strip and get back into bed, or take their clothes off a little at a time? Was he supposed to take of his own, or wait for her to do it? He couldn't remember the finer points of seduction, or even if he'd ever known them. Most of his encounters had been rushed, emotionally uncomfortable, and physically… little more than a release of pressure. Quite frankly, he could do a better job of it himself. Then his train of thought was derailed as she took her weight on one elbow and used her other hand to start unbuttoning her pajama top. Inch by inch, he saw soft skin emerge from flannel folds.

He held his breath. She was… perfect. As she shrugged away the soft material, his fingers itched to touch. She must have sensed it, because she put her hand back beneath his shirt and scratched the center of his chest gently. "Your turn?" she requested.

He gave a nod, and then shifted so that he could reach down and tug off his t-shirt. Dark blue cotton found its way to the floor as he lost all interest in clothing. That same tongue which had been surprising him before was now picking up where it had left off. Across his collar bone, down and around a disk of darker brown skin, and finally ending with a gentle bite just above his navel. When she looked up at him this time, he gave her a look that held less surprise and far more distraction. He had to touch her.

He wanted to ask permission, but was entirely too afraid that she might say no. So he followed her example and slid his hands along her sides, enjoying the texture of soft, feminine skin. When they began their return journey, he caressed the softer skin of her chest, smiling when she gasped a little as he rubbed and played. It was amazing the difference in texture from average skin to this, he thought. He supposed the fascination was in not having it himself, but whatever the reason, he spent a good deal of time at her chest, touching, kissing, and finally sucking on the warmth he found there.

For her part, Sara didn't seem to mind. In fact, if the soft sounds and tiny groans he heard were any indication at all, she was enjoying this as much as he was. So he took his time, leaving no inch of flesh untouched, tickling her with his tongue, then moving on to another location to repeat the treatment. By the time he was back up to her neck, and then her lips, the kiss he received was nearly an attack. She held him to her tightly, kissed him deep and long and more thoroughly than he would have thought possible, and then she pulled away just enough to look at him before kissing him again. He couldn't even imagine what she must have seen in her glance. He was stunned, aroused, and very confused. It weren't as though he was a virgin; he had done this before. But he hadn't done this before. They hadn't even gone below the waist, and already it was all he could do to delay the inevitable release of his body. If she ever really touched him…

Her head was on his shoulder now, her breathing as erratic as his own. "Give me a sec," she requested in between gulping breaths. "I didn't think…"

"Neither did I," he admitted.

A long moment later she eased back in the cradle of his arms and smiled. "You ready?"

He couldn't answer beyond a gulp. She must have taken it as assent though, because she reached down and pushed away both flannel pants and the panties beneath, leaving herself open to his gaze. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything more beautiful. The only thing clouding the situation was the knowledge that she would expect him to do the same, and there were times when fifteen years seemed to be a lifetime.

He had never really worried about his appearance. He had done his best to remain healthy, but beyond that he was realistic enough to know that bodies did not stay the same as they aged. He wasn't thirty anymore, and he didn't look as though he was. Normally it wasn't something he thought about, but lying next to a beautiful woman the concern couldn't be eliminated. Would she be disappointed? Would she even want…?

His choice in the matter was taken from him as he felt his boxers sliding down, driven by soft and warm hands which were nothing if not determined. Well, if she was this insistent, he couldn't see a reason to fight her. He lifted himself slightly, making her job easier, and then he kicked away the material. When it was done, he closed his eyes and pulled her close to him. One moment, he thought. One moment, and then he would let reality settle in. One moment, and then he would let her see just what she was settling for. But he needed this moment, and he needed to feel her warmth against him, head to toe.

Gratefully, she stayed in his arms far longer than a moment, and when she eased back he was surprised to see tears in her eyes. If he hadn't seen the soft smile, he might have been worried. But that was the smile she saved just for him, and he'd learned to look for it. With a deep breath, he loosened his hold on her and let her look, let her touch. It was the last wall he had, and she was inside. He said a silent prayer that he hadn't made a horrible mistake; he wasn't sure he could stand being torn apart from the inside out.