I'll Be Waiting

It's all I seem to do…wait. She is gone for days at a time, to one place or another, but she always comes back in one piece-- more or less. But even when she is home, I'm still waiting.

When I see her in the infirmary after a mission, you can cut the tension with a knife. But not the bad kind, no…it's good tension.

The tension that makes my heart beat that little bit faster, and I can hear my blood rushing in my ears. My chest constricts, and I start to feel dizzy and light-headed. My palms begin to sweat and if it weren't for medical training I'm sure my hands would shake.

When I look her in the eyes, I swear my knees begin to buckle. It's like a shot of pure emotion, so strong it could tear me apart. I'm powerless against those baby blues, and she can see it. We both know it's there, this tension; it electrifies the air around us, and everything else fades away. I can see the effect my touch has--I know exactly what it does to her because it's the same for me.

Her physical is performed in silence, except for the obligatory questions and answers. When all is done and the physical is over, the tension dissipates, and we return to our normal camaraderie.

We pretend it never exists, that there isn't intense all encompassing connection between us. That it doesn't make my heart feel like a freight train trying to explode out of my chest. We ignore the fact that we both need oxygen because suddenly breathing has become the hardest thing in the world to do.

Only in the infirmary, within the protection of a flimsy privacy curtain do we let these feelings play out. We let the most exciting tension I have ever felt in my life take over and have its way with our bodies.

But one day it won't be enough. One day one of us will be brave enough. One day I will have her and she will have me. But until then…I'll be waiting.