(A/N: many thanks to everyone who's reviewed so faithfully, including my guest reviewers-it truly does mean a great deal. I hope you're all doing well and staying safe in these mad times.

We've got a few more chapters to go and I'm working on another story to follow this one, so there will be plenty to read for the time being at least. -Brig)

November 22nd

The sun was well up when Dana arrived at Greg's place. She found her set of keys where James's text message had said they'd be, tucked away on the molding above the door. She entered the apartment as quietly as she could, mindful of sleeping neighbors, closed the door behind her and picked up her bags, then made her way through the living room, intent on stowing away the fresh groceries she'd bought on the journey up from Philly. James might have done some shopping, but his tastes and hers differed in some significant ways.

As she gained the kitchen, it was to find Greg there first. He stood in front of a cabinet, clad in his shabby bathrobe with the front open, balanced on his remaining leg as he searched for something. Dana paused in the doorway, her heart in her throat. It was the second time she'd seen him unclothed since his surgery, but this felt more like the first. The immensity of his loss struck hard.

She must have made some noise because he turned his head, a sharp, startled movement. His vivid gaze raked over her, but he said nothing. Dana swallowed on a dry throat. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, feel his lean, solid warmth against her, and at the moment it would be the last thing he'd allow. She studied his expression. It held anxiety, defiance, anger, and deep beneath it all a profound longing that broke her heart, but also offered comprehension. She understood more clearly now what it would take to bring them together. As was often the case with this man, it wouldn't be easy . . . but she was ready to try. Her own fear eased at the realization.

"Good morning." She wanted to smile, to reassure him, but it wasn't in her to dissemble; he'd pick up on the dishonesty and run like hell. Greg's gaze slid away from hers. Still silent, he lowered his body into the chair, backed up and turned to leave the kitchen. As he moved past her, she reached out and put her hand on his arm. He froze, his face averted; she could feel him tremble at her touch.

"Please come back and have breakfast with me," she said softly. After a few moments he gave a single nod, then pulled away from her and fled down the hall.

Half an hour later he came in just as she'd poured a mug of coffee. He hovered in the doorway, his fierce gaze pinned to hers. Dana set the mug aside, took another one from the shelf and filled it as well, set it on the island within easy reach if Greg wanted it, then turned back to her own breakfast. She sipped her coffee before she searched for the butler's tray James kept with the extra cookie sheets in one of the bottom cabinets.

"I brought some prosciutto to go with the croissants," she said into the silence. With care she put two plates on the tray. "And fontina." He said nothing, just watched her. "Would you like to eat here, or in the living room?"

His answer was to back out and disappear. No surprises there; she knew he would prefer a less intimate atmosphere. She took both mugs and put them on the tray, added another plate and stacked it with food and a few paper napkins from the basket on the counter, and took it all with her.

Greg had chosen his usual spot on the couch. He was wedged into the corner—partly to use the back for support, but also the better to watch her, Dana knew. She set everything on the coffee table and glanced at him, took her plate and chose a croissant half, some ham and fontina. She claimed her mug as well, and sat back. "Where's the remote?" She kept her tone casual, matter of fact. "I'd like to check the forecast." She didn't bother to ask if he wanted help with the plate; he'd either chide her, or just deal with the situation.

Still silent, Greg dug the remote out from between two couch cushions and offered it. His fingers brushed her palm as she took it from him. Dana resisted the urge to capture his hand in hers. Instead she turned on the tv, found the local news, lowered the sound, and began to stack ham and cheese on her croissant.

"So you're eating now." Greg's voice was rough and a little loud in the quiet room. Dana licked her fingers.

"I've been eating for a long time. Since birth, to be exact."

He made an impatient noise. "Don't be a smartass. You know what I mean."

She sipped her coffee and wished she'd put more milk in it. "I've been working on moving away from behaviors that foster depression." She set down her mug and caught a glimpse of Greg's face. He swallowed and his eyes widened before he looked away, but she saw his fear once more. On impulse she reached out and took his hand in hers. "You are not a destructive behavior. Far from it. That's . . . that's why I'm here."

He stared down at their hands. After a moment his fingers curled around hers in a firm grip, as if he wanted to keep her there by any means. "You . . . you're sure about that." The hesitation in his words made her heart ache.

"Oh yes." She leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. He turned his head so that their lips met. It was almost chaste, but the fire banked behind it told her otherwise. When it ended he rested his forehead against hers for a few moments. She felt him shiver.

"'kay." She could barely hear him, but his clasp tightened a little.

They watched the news as they ate breakfast together. Dana dared to move closer, so that her hip rested against his. That earned her a sidelong glance.

"Never figured you had a stump fetish, m'lady." The sarcasm stung her into an impulsive reply.

"I don't care about that, except for everything you had to go through—" She stopped as memory shocked her for a moment, full of anguish and fear. "I don't care," she said again, and drank the last of her coffee. "I'm—I'm going to the kitchen to get a fresh cup, would you—"

"Dana." His quiet voice cut through her babble. Her heart thumped hard and she closed her eyes on the stupid, foolish tears that welled up suddenly.

"You wouldn't let me be with you when you—you went through hell, and I'm—I'm angry at you for locking me out, dammit! All that time, knowing you were—you were alone—" She pulled away from him, grabbed her mug and almost ran to the kitchen.

What is wrong with you? she scolded herself as she fixed another coffee and put in plenty of milk this time. He'll kick you out if you keep this up! You know he can't handle emotion when you hurl it at him that way. You must control yourself!

By the time she returned she'd calmed down, at least outwardly. Without looking at Greg she resumed her seat, conscious he stared at her. She put a plate of danish on the tray. When she leaned back, he took her hand in his and placed it on what was left of his thigh.

It was the last thing she expected him to do. She drew in a hitching, unsteady breath and found herself completely undone.

For a long time she kept her face buried in the join of his neck and shoulder as she sobbed, her body shaking. After a while she became aware of Greg's arms around her. They lay on the couch together, and he was spooned behind her. She started to sit up, ashamed of her wild outburst, but his arms tightened gently.

"Stay where you are." His breath was warm on her skin. "If you want to make yourself useful, hand me a danish."

That startled a choke of weak laughter out of her. She did as he asked, and dared to press close against him as he munched. "You'd—you'd better not get c-crumbs in my hair."

"Oh yeah? What do you plan to do if that happens?"

"Trade places and do the same to you."

He chuckled. "Like to see you try."

"I'll wait till you're tied up." She took his free hand in hers.

"You . . . you still want to. Tie me up, I mean." The anxious edge in his voice caught at her.

"Of course I do." It came out in a rough whisper. "Oh, of course I do, my beautiful man. That will never change."

He was still for a moment. "A lot less beautiful now."

"Non." She brought his fingers to her lips. "Not to me."

He said nothing, but she felt him give a quiet sigh and relax against her, little by little.