A/N: For anon, as a pitiful attempt to break my writer's block


It Can't Rain Forever

She wakes to that uneasy feeling that comes with unknown beds; her mind is coaxed into consciousness by the sheets not being quite right–not better or worse than what she's used to, just simply… not right.

She blinks her eyes open, but all she sees is the white pillow her head is resting on, bathed in sunlight. She closes them again and stretches, like a cat, her thoughts still too muddled by her dreams to actually register the things around her–like the foreign room, the drapeless window, or the sheets under her bare back.

And then it all starts coming back.

The mission. Her bumping into Ward. Forming a delicate alliance. The storm. Him suggesting that they go to one of his safe houses nearby instead of going on their separate ways. Her agreeing to it – she still doesn't know why. Getting drenched in the rain on their way there. Laughing at their own pitiful state as they peeled off their clothing. Him promising to get some dry clothes–something he never actually got around doing. Her hands on his cheeks. His mouth on her throat. Making love with lightning in the background.

A part of her, one that might be more romantic than practical–a part that wants more of last night–, nudges her to reach over to the other side of the bed. She complies, but her searching fingers find nothing but crumpled, cool sheets.

The last vestiges of sleep suddenly leaving her, she sits up, clutching the sheets to her chest (there's a hickey just under her collar bone and her center aches ever so slightly as she moves), and looking around. The room only holds the bare necessities–even the bed's just a mattress on the floor–, with no adornments, and… he's gone.

She can see her own clothes, hung to dry on the dresser and on the back of the chair, but his are gone–even the Henley she oh-so-carelessly threw to the corner the previous night. Apart from the obviously used sheets, there's absolutely no sign of him–of him ever having been there–in the room.

She draws in a shaky breath, while feeling as if her stomach has turned into stone (it feels like being rejected, abandoned again, as absurd as it is). Because of course he'd leave–they have nothing to do with each other anymore. No, that's not true–they're enemies now (or are they?), enemies who definitely shouldn't have slept together. For goodness' sake, she should have arrested him the moment they met instead of… well, yeah. So it's no surprise that he left–she would have done the same thing in his place.

But still… it sucks.

She stands with trembling legs, and, the sheets still clutched to her chest (why? It's not like there's anyone else in the apartment she should protect her modesty from), she limps over to her clothes.

So, yeah, she follows her previous train of thought as she checks whether her shirt has dried over the night, she gets why he's gone. This way he only loses a safe house, instead of getting his ass hauled to prison. But it doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt, especially not after a night when she almost hoped. Of course it's not like that she could have expected anything else–good morning sex and cuddling has never been in the cards for them, but still–

She freezes.

There's some soft sound coming from outside the apartment–a jingle of keys, one of them being inserted into the lock, then the lock turning…

Without thinking, she grabs for her gun lying on the top of the dresser (she doesn't stop to ponder over the fact that it's still there), then, the gun clutched in her fist, her other hand clumsily holding the sheets up, she pulls into cover by the door, and, holding her breath, she waits for the attack.

But it doesn't come.

She hears the front door open with a loud creak, then someone steps into the apartment with unhurried steps, followed by another creak as the door closes. She waits for a moment, bracing herself, then jumps from her hiding spot, gun raised, and–

"Ward?"

She stops, right on the threshold, staring at the man standing in the small hallway gazing back at her with a paper tray of coffee and a paper bag in hand. "You're… here."

He nods slowly. "Yes." He looks a bit taken aback, but slightly, well, amused. "It's my place, technically, you know," he says with a smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth.

She lowers the gun to her side, still not moving. "I thought–" She inhales sharply; she has no idea why it's hard to speak. "I thought you were gone."

He blinks, his whole expression faltering. "No, I just…" He takes a step closer and holds up the items in his hands. "The fridge is empty, and I thought you'd be hungry, so… I went out to get some food. There's a nice little bakery–"

He doesn't get to finish the sentence. She doesn't know what's wrong with her, but she drops the gun and rushes to him, throwing her arms around his neck, almost knocking the food from his hands. She feels his chuckle as she tucks her head under his chin.

"Missed me?" he asks after placing the breakfast on the nearby counter and curling his arms around her body.

"Oh, shut up," she grumbles, but there's no malice behind the words.

There's a moment of silence–during which she swears he holds her closer–, then he says in a strange, broken whisper, "I was afraid you'd be gone by the time I got back."

"It sucked to wake up alone," she replies as he starts caressing her hair. It feels nice; stupid lies and betrayals and rationality to be damned, it feels nice to be in his arms.

"So let's not leave each other anymore," he says softly into her ear.

She chuckles, with tears stinging her eyes, because it's absurd, it's impossible, it'd would never work, and they shouldn't indulge in delusions like this, and still… she wants it.

"Alright."