The In-Between

By Felicia Ferguson

Author's Note: This ficlet answers Christine's (mamalabo) request for a ShOliver fill-in-the-gap piece between Higher Ground and Home Again. She wondered, after years of taking off and then falling flat, Oliver seems to finally be all-in on progressing their relationship, but are there any bumps along the way before they start "going steady?" Hmm … well, let's see … lol.

Canon Nerd Timeline Information (feel free to skip): Based on a study of explicit dates in From the Heart and The Road Less Traveled, NoRita's relationship progression, Oliver's stating his "employee" had been gone for three months, and their still settling in to the new DLO in Home Again, this is the canon timeline I came up with:

Higher Ground: May-August (Shane back in D.C. by the 1st week of August; back in Denver, end of August)

DLO move: 1st week of September

Home Again: 2nd week of September

The Road Less Traveled: 1st week of October

This ficlet occurs the Saturday after Shane's return (i.e. 1 week post-Higher Ground). I'm going to call it complete for now, however, it may be extended for up to the full week before Home Again—it all depends on the muse and the current work-in-progress.

As always, the characters belong to Martha Williamson, Eric Mabius, and Kristin Booth. I just enjoy borrowing them for recess!

Christine, I hope this meets with your approval! Y'all enjoy!


Shane tugged an errant dandelion out from under the hydrangea bush and tossed it in the bucket with the other weeds. Her braid flopped along her back, loose tendrils of hair sticking to the nape of her neck with a satisfying sense of hard work and sweat. She glanced to the almost full bucket—the third once since she started that morning—then turned to look at the rest of the bed. May be the last one. Finally. But given the length of time she'd been gone, she was actually surprised to find her beds not completely overgrown.

Shane fingered the leaves of her pruned rose bush as she studied Oliver's handiwork. For all his dislike of outdoor activities and getting dirty, he had done a magnificent job caring for her roses. The new leafing already promised a multitude of buds in the spring.

Shane frowned as her thoughts turned to Oliver and their week together. At no point in that time had he mentioned their relationship, despite their soul-melting series of kisses and her reading of the raw, desperate, but love-drenched letters. Did he regret their brazen display of emotion?

She pushed aside the niggling doubt. To be fair, he'd gotten word they were being displaced from their home by online shipping's expansion. Their usual postal duties had the added stress of packing up the DLO and moving to a smaller space in the terminal annex. Downsizing was never fun, and Oliver's attachment to his stuff had led to many discussions of the difference between need and want. Shane's lips quirked as his bemused, borderline outraged expression at having to thin his collection of postal history books replayed through her memory.

And on the bright side, he'd walked her to her car every night after they closed up, pausing by her door to touch her shoulder, search her face, and then smile as if savoring the simple reality she was home. Then he'd open her door and wait until she was behind the wheel and buckled in to murmur, "Good night, Shane." He ended the moment with another amazed smile as she closed her door and then he'd place a soft pat to her window.

"That means something, right?" Shane sat back on her heels and wiped her arm across her brow absorbing the beads of sweat that dotted her forehead. She tugged off her gardening gloves and surveyed her work. The beds around her porch were finally finished. Redoing the mulch was next on the list. But that could wait until next weekend. No sense in rushing the process.

A throat clear followed by a familiar voice jerked her from her contemplation. A gasp slipped between her lips as her pulse ricocheted through her veins, knocking her off her heels, and landing her butt in the soft grass.

"Shane? Oh my goodness, are you are all right?"

She took in a deep steadying breath as Oliver's concern overrode her startle. She turned to find his worried frown and extended hand reaching toward her. Pushing a smile across her lips, she shook her head. "No harm done. You just surprised me."

She took his hand and allowed him to draw her to her feet, watching the concern fade from his eyes. She squeezed his hand then released it. "You have good timing though. I was just finished." She dusted off her rear then wiped her brow again with her forearm. She had to look an absolute mess—surely there was more than one smear of dirt somewhere on her jeans or t-shirt. But judging by Oliver's pleased gaze, she might as well be decked in her finest ready for a lovely evening at Montaldo's.

Tugging him toward her porch, they climbed the stairs and paused at her door. "Can I get you something to drink?" Her cheeks wrinkled in a teasing smirk. "A kombucha smoothie maybe? I'm all out of Yoo-Hoo, so it won't be perfect."

Oliver's lips twitched as he shook his head. "I hesitate to admit this, but as much as I experimented and taste-tested while you were gone, I never developed an affinity for it."

Shane's lips twisted around an adoring smile. "Well then, I'm doubly grateful for your efforts. The ginger ale and honey comb recipe really is good."

"I'm very glad to hear it, but I'm perfectly fine."

Shane nodded and gestured to the swing. They sat, easing into a gentle sway. "So what brings you here? Just out for a walk and happened to stop by a lady's house?" Oliver's cheeks pinked, and he flicked a quick, guilty glance toward her as he fidgeted with his cuffs. Her grin widened with full-on delight. Heaven help her, she missed teasing him.

"Well, to be completely honest, I often walked by your home while you were away. Just to check on things."

Shane watched pained memory skirt across his gaze. She slid her hand into his and gave it a long squeeze then ran her thumb along his knuckles, hoping to soothe it away. He had missed her and terribly. They really were a pair.

Oliver sniffed then turned his gaze to scan the porch. "I … ah … know you've only just returned and you must still be resettling into your home, but I was wondering if perhaps you might like to go to dinner with me … this evening … something low key since the week has been … busy and you've just returned … perhaps a picnic in the park and watching the sunset?"

"Oliver O'Toole dining al fresco?" Mirth saturated her words, and Shane grinned at the picture in her head. It was almost as much of a paradox as Oliver playing poker and watching action movies. Something I still have yet to see.

"Well, before Dad's accident on the camping trip, I began to appreciate the attraction of dining under the stars." He flicked a worried glance toward her as he again tugged his shirt cuff. "I apologize for it being so last minute, but …"

Shane cupped his cheek and ran her thumb over his lips, silencing his apology. "I'd love to." Boyish delight lit his eyes, and Shane decided to test their new boundaries. She bit her lip as she let her hand fall away. "Maybe this one we can finally count as a full date—as long as you kiss me goodnight on my porch."

Oliver's eyes gleamed as his smile deepened, curving his cheeks into a look she'd rapidly come to realize was reserved only for her. "I can assure you that is certainly on the evening's agenda."

Breathless, Shane's voice lowered to match his. Her gaze dropped to his lips then returned. "But you do know you don't have to wait for tonight."

Oliver's gaze met hers and held. Banked longing darkened his eyes. Her breath caught on an inhale as he slowly lowered his lips to hers. Sweet sensation melted through her. When he lifted his lips away, she tucked her head on his shoulder. He laid his cheek against her hair, ignoring the sweat that dampened it. As his arm wrapped around her shoulders, Shane closed her eyes. Soul-deep peace washed over her heart. Oh, I can get used to this.

They sat and swayed in silence, absorbing the easy joy of being together. On the cusp of dreamland, Shane shifted. "I noticed you fixed the squeak."

"Ah, yes. Your roses were first on my list and then the swing. A simple matter of WD-40 and tightening one screw."

Impressed, Shane nodded against his shoulder and closed her eyes, risking the very probable likelihood of falling asleep in his arms. Yes, I can definitely get used to this.

As her breathing slowed and she neared the final step into dreamland, a bang cracked the air. Shane shot off the swing. Eyes wide, she ducked behind it and covered her head.

Bombs burst around her.

Dust clouded her vision.

Fear clawed at her heart.

No, she was not going to die here. She was going to live. Had to live. Had to get back to Oliver.

"Shane?" Apprehension contorted her name. A hand rested on the back of her neck, fingers swirling against her skin in soothing circles. Oliver's voice came again as if from a distance. "It was a car backfiring. Everything is all right."

The explanation pierced the haze of memory. Shane lowered her hands. She closed her eyes and took in a long, deep breath, focusing her thoughts on what she knew to be true, just as her therapist taught her.

She was in Denver. On her porch. Oliver was there. She was safe.

Bird song chirped. Breeze brushed her skin. Oliver's hand was warm, comforting.

Yes, she was safe.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. Tears blurred Oliver into a watery version of himself, but she could still make out the alarmed furrow in his brow. She had scared him. Maybe even terrified him. Willing her arms and legs to release their panic, Shane rose stiffly and returned to the swing and the comfort of Oliver's embrace.

She tucked her nose into the crook of his neck, savoring the familiar scent of his aftershave and whispered, "I'm sorry. My DOD therapist said I might have some lingering effects from my experience overseas."

She heard and felt Oliver's shocked gasp. She had talked about the bombings in her letters, but it had been academic and the past. Guilt pricked at her, but, in reality, nothing could have prepared him for witnessing a triggered response. He tightened his arm around her shoulders, pulling her deeper into his embrace, and murmured soothing shushes.

As her pulse eased back to normal, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. His eyes met hers, and she forced comfort and certainty into her gaze. "It's much better than it was when I first returned to the States."

Anger flashed through his blue eyes, narrowing them. Steve had just dropped several feet lower in Oliver's estimation—if that were even possible. Shane settled her cheek against his chest, relishing the closeness even as her thoughts drifted back to their separation.

When she'd agreed to leave with Steve on his "few weeks" assignment, she'd never imagined how they would morph into months away. Nor did she have any idea of the souvenir she would bring back. But her first days in Washington after two months on the Afghanistan-Pakistan border were fraught with the signs. Headaches. Fatigue. Restless, nightmare-filled sleep. Capped by a growing despair that the assignment might never end.

After googling her symptoms, she'd signed herself up for sessions with a DOD therapist and got the official diagnosis: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Thankfully, her case was mild. After two weeks in counseling, the nightmares began to ease and her sleep improved, though she still found herself waking in a pool of cold sweat at least once a week.

But despite the therapy, she couldn't shake the growing depression. By the time Oliver appeared four weeks later, like an oasis in the desert, the despair had latched on tight and she'd resigned herself to possibly a year away and out of contact. All for the good of the country, she'd told herself.

She never thought to ask about her own good.

Oliver's pain-filled questioning of Steve's truthfulness, however, jarred her enough to consider the toll the assignment continued to take on her, on him, on them. His abrupt exit, her oasis vanishing like a mirage, forced her to finally search for the truth. And what she found stunned her. Steve had lied. To her face. For a month—if not longer.

When she'd told her therapist of her plan to return home, he'd encouraged the idea, sending her back to Denver and Oliver where complete healing was sure to be found as she slept in her own bed, surrounded by her own things, and in the quiet normality of Cherry Creek.

He'd also recommended she spend time doing things she loved to ground her back in her reality and encouraged her to make a list. This last week in the DLO immersed her in the presence of people and work she loved, ticking two boxes on the list. Gardening today ticked the third. But as she savored the soothing thump of Oliver's heartbeat in her ear and the easy circles his fingers traced against her back, she decided regularly being in his arms would be the most healing of all.

She lifted her head and smoothed her fingers against his cheek, willing him to take her at her word. "Talking with a therapist helped. But being home …" being with you, "is the best therapy." She paused as a grateful smile slipped over her lips. "Thank you for coming after me."

Oliver eased her hand from his cheek and pressed a long kiss to her knuckles. Shane closed her eyes, savoring the emotion, the feel, and the reality that he had truly saved her life.

He squeezed her fingers then released her as his eyes scanned the sky. He tugged out his pocket watch and a sigh seemed to confirm the time. "It's getting late, and I had better be going." Reluctance worried his gaze. He searched her eyes and apparently finding comfort in them, his lips twitched into a pleased smile. "I have a date to prepare."

Shane leaned back and flashed him a delighted grin, but she couldn't keep her fingers from playing with his four-in-hand knot. "Yes, you do. I'll see you at seven?"

Oliver nodded and rose from the swing, setting it to a gentle sway, then took her steps two at time. Shane moved toward the door and watched his retreating back as he made his way up Yellow Bird Lane toward Washington Park. When he disappeared over the rise, her gaze drifted around her porch. The swing swayed as if still propelled by their motion. The pruned rose bush burst with the promise of new growth. And it would only be a few hours before she was once again in Oliver's arms.

She took in a long slow breath as contentment, joy, and love bubbled up inside her, banishing the earlier darkness.

It was so good to be home.