(See first part for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 2: "Until Today"

She couldn't remember whose idea it was to leave the bar. He held her hand as she stood slowly, laughing with her when the heel dangling precariously from her foot finally fell to the floor. She watched him bend down, grasping his shoulder as he slid the expensive pump back on. His hand stayed still for a long moment, molded to her calf as he looked up quietly at her.

Nor could she remember whose idea it was to walk down the street to the motel that looked like it had been around since the beginning of time. A neon sign flickered in the dingy window, as if it wasn't completely sure it wanted to welcome patrons.

The air outside was oppressive, a sticky warmth with no breeze at all. The jittery air-conditioning inside was a welcome relief and she gathered her thick hair away from her neck. She leaned against the wall, watching his back as he signed the register. He insisted on footing this bill and she let him…because his eyes gave her no room to say no.

She smiled to herself, recalling the way he protested when she attempted to cover both of their tabs. Their hands clumsily fighting, a tug of war over a slip of paper. It had seemed funny, the two of them arguing over who was sober enough to pay. She had won in the end after she had fallen into his arms, the result of a particularly strong pull from him. He had expected the bill and got her instead.

The old man behind the counter slid the room key across the linoleum counter, the key attached to a pink rabbit's foot. He turned around, amusement playing across his face as he held it up teasingly.

She burst out laughing, covering her mouth as he took her arm and led her down the hallway. The wallpaper peeled away from the wall at the corners, yellowed with age and poor upkeep. A mosquito flittered in front of her face and she swat at it lazily, long after it passed her.

She turned to him, about to ask if they were there yet when he stopped without warning. He grasped her waist when she stumbled and she wondered why he wasn't having nearly as much trouble with the walking as she was.

"You hold onto me, I hold onto you," he said as he turned the key and pushed open the door.

She squinted at him, her hands on her hips as she kicked off her heels. His back was to her again, the door locking with a resounding click. Her handbag fell to the floor, landing on the carpet, a worn carpet that was a revolting shade of orange. "Why did you say that?" she asked, sinking down to the lumpy mattress.

"You asked." The pink rabbit foot landed on the wood table in the corner, fitting in nicely with the cigarette burns and scratches on the surface. He flopped heavily on the bed, causing her to grab hold of the brown comforter for stability and grimace. "Sorry."

"Don't be," she sighed as she leaned back, her hair fanning out beneath her head. "It's the price we pay."

He folded his arm, resting his head on it as he watched her. She stared up at the popcorn ceiling and the fan, rotating silently and gracing them with a light breeze. The fine wrinkles and slight puffiness licking at her eyes seemed deeper and harsher under the unforgiving light. He could only imagine what it showed on him and he shook his head because in the end, he really didn't want to know.

"You're staring," she whispered, turning on her side to face him as he reached behind to kill the overhead light. Shadows ensconced the room, faint silvery light from the moon being the only thing that allowed her to see him.

"So are you," he pointed out, inching closer to her.

"Yes, but at the ceiling."

"Find anything interesting?"

She smiled tiredly, tucking her hand beneath her cheek. "Not really." He watched quietly as she reached out, her index finger resting square on his chest. "What did you find?"

"A mystery."

Her finger trailed down, her hand sitting heavily on the mattress. "And you're determined to solve it?"

He shrugged as his face moved to within inches of hers. Her shallow breath grazed his chin, the scent of gin dancing on it. His lips twitched and he wondered briefly what it would be like to press his lips against hers. She pressed her finger to his mouth, a disappointing substitute for what he wanted from her.

"I'm really not, you know…a mystery."

"I know."

"Do you?" She looked up, her head propped on her arm.

He looked up at the light sound of her pearls rubbing together. She was playing with them, pulling them away from her neck and rolling them between her fingers. She forced a smile, working hard to cover the hurt in her eyes. The pain was wider, deeper than the ocean, and just as turbulent.

She looked away and sighed deeply, a deep wavering breath that was heavy with conflict. He held her gaze for a long moment, searching the depths of her eyes while she continued to anxiously finger the pearls. He reached up, covering her twitching fingers with his hand. She raised her eyes slowly to his, her fingers curling up within his.

"Did you ever feel that everything was spinning out of control?" she asked in a breathy whisper as he inched closer to her, their knees brushing together. The inside of his palm was rough, worn from the labor of hard work. Different from Gregory's, but with the same strong warmth.

"Not until today," he whispered back, his heavy shoes falling to the floor with a loud thud.

She blinked once at the sound, gently pulling her hand away from his. He reached out, his finger tracing the delicate stitching on the lapel of her suit and down to the large round buttons. They popped out of the slits, one after the other until the suit jacket hung open. He reached for her, longing to feel her bare flesh beneath his hands when she pushed his hand away. Her arm curled around his neck, a heavy weight around his shoulders.

Loud music from the room next door made the walls vibrate, but they very well may have been the last people in the world. She closed her eyes as their mouths met, as if she could close herself off from the reality that would come with the rising sun. His hands slid around to her back, pressing them tight against her.

He rolled over, pinning her body beneath his as he maintained the lock he had on her lips. Her hands fought with his shirt, anxious to divest him of it. She pulled it off him, tossing it aside as his lips fondled the skin of her neck. The taut muscles of his back flexed beneath her hands as he ripped the silky black bra from her chest.

There was an urgency with her…and him too, he decided as the feeling of her naked chest against his stirred him onward. Her hips ground against him and he groaned, a guttural rumble that echoed in the room. The clasp of his belt fell apart and with barely a whisper, it slid out from the loops of his pants.

His lips kneaded her chest, his head pressed to her flesh. She bit her lip, wrapping her legs around his waist as her hands waded through his hair. The events of the last few weeks fell away, all of the anger and bitterness reduced to bits of dust and scattered by strong winds. His finger wedged inside the waist of her pants, curling around the waist before tugging down.

She took the upper hand now, pushing him off to shimmy out of her pants and settle on top of him. The cheap fabric curtains were pulled away from the window and the diamond on her hand couldn't help but catch the moonlight. She glared down at it for a moment before turning the stone into her palm. The crime she committed, the people she destroyed to get the gem and the man that gave it to her…she realized that she had to remind herself why it was worth it then. Then. As for now…

"This is wrong," he breathed when she pulled back, kneeling next to him to pull the pants from his body.

She lay next to him, her body stretched out against his and her arm draped across his chest. "But where did being right get you?" She nibbled at his jaw and asked again, "Where did it get you?"

He turned onto his side, wrapping his arm around her waist. "No where," he mumbled as he drew her closer. The bass from next door continued to thump the walls as he overtook her. Or she overtook him.

He wasn't quite sure what the right answer was anymore.


Harsh sunlight glared in through the window, lighting up every once dark corner of the small room. The beach that the window opened out onto was empty, save for the pair of joggers running along the shoreline.

She rolled over with a groan, hiding her eyes from the painful light. The inexpensive pillow was flat beneath her head and she pulled the rough sheet over her face.

"Here," a deep voice said as a hand settled on her hip. She peaked out from beneath the white sheet and met his brown eyes. "This must have fallen out of your purse last night," he explained, passing her a small gold pillbox engraved with a rose.

She took the box without a word, dropping several of the extra strength pills into her mouth. She watched him turn around to the night table, passing her a small glass of water.

"Isn't that more than the recommended dose?" he asked as she swallowed the water, grimacing against the cold temperature.

She shrugged and he took the empty glass from her as she folded the pillow in half, laying her head down again. "With a headache like this, I don't think I'll be faulted," she mumbled. "Why are you so…normal?" she asked dryly, pressing the bridge of her nose as if somehow it could relieve the pounding in her head.

He chuckled sheepishly, leaning back against the warped headboard. "Because I already took about six of those aspirins."

The headboard groaned against his weight and she looked up, a small smile dancing on her lips. The jeans he wore fit his body perfectly, seemingly part and parcel. "How long have you been awake?" she wondered as she hugged the sheet to her chest.

He looked out the window, the bright sunlight stinging his eyes. "I saw the sun come up," he said as he stood up.

She watched his bare back, the muscles rippling like waves beneath his skin as he rolled his shoulders. He was tanned and fit, the epitome of youth. Not that he was really that much younger. However, younger was younger.

"There were too many voices in my head, too many things fighting for attention," he continued as he turned back to her. His eyes were clearer now, the heavy anguish from last night gone…only to be replaced with a dark haunting. "I tried sleeping, tried closing my eyes but- that only seemed to make things worse."

"The dark usually does," she interjected softly, staring off into space as she listened to him. "Night is the worst."

"Yeah." He shoved his hands deep down in his pockets and rocked back on his heel.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room, pregnant with everything left unsaid. He cleared his throat and crossed to the window, leaning against the warm pane of thick glass. With a sigh, he stared out at the horizon, still slightly hazy. "I watched the sun come up…and I felt nothing. The room grew lighter," he continued, "and I watched it rise and…there was nothing. Nothing but the ugly feeling that it was the end."

She turned onto her back, one bare leg curling out from underneath the sheet. She folded her arm beneath her head, a better cushion than the pillow would ever be. His voice was flat, deader than his eyes.

"The end of what?"

He looked over, pushing away from the window. "Everything."

"That's a little dramatic," she sighed as she sat up. "Don't you think?"

He shook his head and grabbed his shirt from the foot of the bed. He tugged the simple gray tee over his head, running his hand through his uncombed hair. "I resigned from the force yesterday, after killing a murder suspect that my gut told me was innocent even though all of the evidence said otherwise. Dramatic?" he asked scornfully. "Dramatic doesn't even begin to describe the half of it."

She was quiet, mulling over his outburst silently until she sat up abruptly. "You're talking about Annie Douglas!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock.

He smiled sadly, patting his back pocket for his wallet. "You can relax," he ordered as she jumped up from the bed, the white sheet draped around her torso. "The case is closed, by special order of the prosecutor. She's a good friend of your husband, isn't she?"

She frowned, glaring at him with an ice that would rival the polar caps. "What are you implying, Detective?" Condescension dripped from her lips, her eyes blazing bright.

"Not a thing, Mrs. Richards," he shot back, pushing his feet into his shoes. "You and your husband can sleep easy again."

Her jaw tightened as she reached out and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look up. "Was that what this was about?" she asked quietly, gesturing towards the bed.

He looked at the bed, mussed pillows and sheets that looked like they survived a wicked hurricane. She was searching his face, waiting for his response when she squeezed his arm and asked urgently, "Was it?"

He shook off her grasp, turning away from her questioning eyes. "I'll check out and settle the bill for the room."

"Answer me damnit!"

He balked at the door, his hand already on the knob when he turned around. "Last night," he said quietly, the words weighing heavily in the charged silence, "had nothing to do with anything. It was a mistake."

A shadow flickered across her face, a spark dying in her eyes as her expression hardened again and she hissed, "The biggest mistake." She turned to the window, tightening the sheet over her chest as she glared out at the sunny beach.

He fingered the knob, ready to turn it and pull the door open when he asked, "Did you kill Del?"

She flinched and turned around slowly, quiet disbelief on her face. Scoffing, she shook her head and folded her arms over her chest. "Once a detective," she trailed off, the rest of the adage dying on her lips. She squared her shoulders, staring dead into the core of his eyes as she said clearly, "No."

He cocked his head, a wistful smile on his lips. "For the record, I never thought you did."

The door squeaked as he closed it, leaving her alone in the room. She sighed deeply, letting go a breath she didn't realize she had held.