Title: Push and Pull
Author: MelWil
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not my characters unfortunately
Summary: He stood in the doorway, a bottle of champagne under his arm.
Spoilers: Up to episode 3.1

Tom stood in the doorway, a bottle of expensive champagne tucked under his arm, and a strange smile on his face. She stared at him for a moment before stepping back to let him enter the flat.

"Hello Zoe."

"Tom." she took the champagne from him, holding it up to examine the label. "One big peace offering, I presume?"

"Yeah. For comfort." Tom looked around the flat as he took off his jacket. "Where's Danny?"

Zoe laughed; a short, sharp laugh that sounded bitter, even to herself. "He's spending the night with Sam. They comfort each other."

"Right. Yes." Tom crossed the room and threw himself into the armchair. "We'll just have to look after each other then."

"Tom."

"Yeah?" He folded his hands over his stomach and looked up at her.

She put the champagne down on the kitchen bench and turned to face him. "I'm not Christine Dale," she said. "You know I'm not Christine Dale."

"Yeah," his face tightened. "I know." He pushed himself out of the chair and moved into the kitchen, pulling glasses out of the cupboard. He stopped and looked at her. "We used to have something, Zoe."

It was the same old story, the same old dance. It came out, every couple of years or so, when thing were bad and he grasped for the nearest thing. Most of the time she laughed, blocked him, moved him on. But today . . .

She looked at him without moving. "What do you need?"

He laughed. "Where do you want me to start?" He stepped towards her and pushed her hair behind her ears. "I want everything that the bastards tried to take away from me."

He pressed his lips against her forehead, soft and slow, as if he expected her to push him away. But she stayed, and the kisses grew faster, harder; her cheeks, her neck, her ears, her mouth.

She linked her arms around the back of his neck, pressing her body against his. He paused for a moment, before the kiss deepened. Her knees felt weak and she began to pull his at his shirt.

"Zoe," he pulled away from her suddenly, taking a swift step backwards. His hand balled into a fist and then uncurled by the side of his leg. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this."

"Yes you did." Zoe ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head. "It's the same as always." She stepped close to him again, running her hand down the side of his face. She wondered when he began looking so old. She wondered if she looked that old too. "It's exactly what you wanted to happen."

She stumbled a little as she pulled him backwards, as she steered him into her bedroom. Her breath caught in her throat as he pushed her against the wall, as he pulled her shirt over her head. A laugh bubbled inside her as they fell onto her unmade bed.

"I thought you were dead," she whispered.

He wiped a tear away from her face. "It was just a bad dream. A nightmare. It's all over now."

They moved slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. His fingers made patterns over her body, his mouth explored the warm skin between her breasts. She gasped as his fingers moved between her legs; dug her fingers into the pillows as he moved inside her; arched her back as he whispered her name over and over.

He fell asleep with his arms around her, his cheek pressed hard against her back. She felt the tears rolling down her cheeks, but she didn't dare to wipe them away.

Tom wouldn't come for her again. Tonight was a one-off, a fluke . . . an incident. It was a release, a way of feeling human again, a way of reclaiming all the things he thought he had lost. A way of feeling like Tom Quinn again.

Whoever Tom Quinn was now.