Distress

"Can we talk?" Emily asked with uncharacteristic timidness from the doorway to Ian's office. She leaned casually against the door frame, hands in her pockets to keep from picking at her nails. She wasn't usually this nervous – not with him, not with anyone – but she desperately didn't want this to be over and she was terrified he might say that it was.

Ian looked up from his glass of whiskey. "You're home," he said as if surprised by her presence, but his intonation was almost bored, as if he'd expected that she'd simply left for work without plans to ever return. Underneath it, though, she could hear the hint of vulnerability, if only because she knew him so well.

Emily didn't comment on his less than welcoming greeting, more to save him the embarrassment of pointing out she knew it was all an act. "Are you drunk?" she asked, brow raised, as he lifted the glass to his lips with a shaky hand.

"This is my first," he answered, rattling the glass so the ice cubes clinked against the sides. If he was offended by her implication, he didn't voice it.

"Is this because of our fight?" she asked softly, gingerly sitting across from him as if he might tell her to leave at any moment. She wasn't entirely sure what she meant by this, but it was as good an ice breaker as any.

"And if it is?"

"Ian..." she murmured, eyes lifting to the ceiling. She sighed softly. "I'm sorry...about the things I said."

He stared down into his tumbler of amber liquid. "I may not have behaved in the most gentlemanly manner myself," he admitted slowly, never one to readily admit he was wrong.

Emily smiled mischievously in spite of the sombre tone of the conversation. "Ian Doyle? A gentleman?" She scoffed, eyes twinkling, belying the sarcastic words. "Never!"

He bit down on his grin, trying not to show it, still reticent to let go of his irritation. "So, does this mean you've had a change of heart?" he finally dared to ask, eyes lifting to meet hers. Damn her for having gotten so thoroughly under his skin, for making his hardened heart soft.

"No, I still think it's best that we wait," she said gently, hating to extinguish that flicker of hope in his eyes. "But I'm sorry if I made you think I don't love you or don't want to marry you. I just need time."

"What do you need time for?" he asked desperately, not understanding. He didn't want to start the earlier argument again, but he needed to know what held her back from the future she claimed to want with him.

She shook her head, eyes darting away from the intense dejection on his face. "It's stupid," she said quietly, shaking her head, tongue flicking out to lick her top lip.

He rested a hand on her knee, squeezing lightly in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "Tell me," he urged, more demand than gentle coaxing.

She let out a heavy sigh, looking anywhere but at him to avoid the way his icy eyes seemed to bore a hole straight through her every defense and into the darkest recesses of her heart. "Everyone I love always leaves me," she whispered eventually.

"Why would I leave?" he asked incredulously.

"There are things you don't know about me," she said slowly, "Things you wouldn't like. And it's only a matter of time before you find out and realize you're better off without me."

He gave a disbelieving little laugh at the irony of the matter. "Emily, look who you're talking to! What moral high-ground do I have to stand on? I'm in no place to judge you and I know it."

"Yes, but..." she insisted.

He leaned forward to take her head in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. "No buts, Emily. Whatever it is you're so afraid of me knowing, I don't care. None of it matters."

She didn't argue, but she lifted a skeptical brow.

"I'm serious," he insisted. "Right this moment, I'm prepared to say 'for better, for worse' and mean it."

"Even if it's a lot of worse?" she asked softly, trying not to smile at the sentiment.

"Even if it's all worse," he promised, leaning in to kiss her.

She lost the battle with her smile then, grinning into the kiss.

"There it is," he said when he pulled away, brushing a thumb over her smiling lip, making her blush.

"I do, you know," she murmured, almost apropos of nothing. When he raised a brow, she added, "Love you."

"I know," he assured her. "I've always known."

"Good." Then she pulled him in for another kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep him close.

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth..." he said, chuckling, when she pulled away for air. "But what prompted the change of heart?"

"I've just been thinking," she said vaguely, gesturing carelessly.

"Because of the case?" he prompted.

She shrugged, but nodded. "He wasn't a bad guy..." she said. He waited for her to continue. "He was a good man with a wife and he's just...gone."

He understood where she was going. "And if someone good can be taken so easily, how quickly could one of us disappear..." he finished for her.

She nodded, not meeting his eyes.

"Mark my words, Emily," he said seriously, "I'm not going anywhere."

She caught his eye again. "Promise?" she asked, even knowing he had no control over it.

"Geallaim," he said, kissing her forehead.

"Now..." she said, snatching his drink away and downing a large sip before pulling a disgusted face at the taste. "I'm going to kiss my favourite boy good night, then you're going to join me in the bedroom so we can make up properly."

"I am?" he teased.

She glared playfully. "It wasn't a suggestion."

He laughed, then saluted. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. And don't call me ma'am."