Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they own me. Special thanks to Toby Whithouse and BBC3 for the playground.

Happy recruitment day, Hal. I'm gifting you a happier ending than where we last left off. And for all you readers still reading out there, reviews are the currency of this so-called society. I'd love to hear from you!


Time passed.

Oscillations of the ventilation served as his clock, the whirr and click of air moving through an otherwise concrete tomb. Regular cycles of burnt coffee, the scent sickeningly thick, wafted in from the staff kitchen a floor above. The faint but incessant humming of Mike Nave was a grating accompaniment. The time passed in shift changes of activity and quiet, quiet and activity. Hal wished that he could lose count of the days. Irritably, he could not.

Dominic Rook visited with unfailing regularity. On good days, Hal would simply stare back in silence. Most days however, he would shout and struggle endlessly until Rook put down his pen, closed his notebook and left. But unlike Tom and Alex the last time he had gone through this, Rook remained completely unperturbed. The human's scent would linger for hours after in the cloistered room, and Hal would both curse and hail his bonds.

Time passed.

The hours in between were whittled away by the ticking of hallucinations that withdrawal always brings - the ghosts of his many pasts. Even Mr. Snow came to call, dressed as he had been in Brazil, in the twenties. He would sit painfully polite, but fix Hal with a stare of extreme disappointment. Sometimes he taunted Hal quietly, with small sips from a crystal chalice, dark with blood. Other times, Snow came to stand over him with less than quiet intentions, until the inescapable aggression tore into a scream. Hal's punishment burned a brand through his sternum and sat with a yearning in his gut.

Craving turned to hunger. Hunger shifted into pain. Pain became visions intertwined with dream and memory. But the most repetitive of all, was Alex. Always Alex.

The first time she approached him slowly, eyes filled with wariness. He had been so intently focused on trying to decipher the emotion in those eyes, that he neglected to detect the syringe in her hand until it was embedded in his thigh.

He shouted in pain and surprise and she jerked the needle free, and backed away with her hands up. "Sorry!"

When he came to, it was to a disorienting repetition of Alex backing away again. But he felt nothing. Nor could he keep what little consciousness he had fought for.

Awakening to her presence in the room once more, he struggled to protest. "Stop. Please," he uttered before even opening his eyes.

"What's that?" She asked even as he felt her pull the dosage free.

"You think I haven't tried this?" He lolled the words, fighting the heaviness of the opiate. "I have to go through it, Alex. Not around."

She looked down to the syringe in her hand, then back at him. "I dunno. Rook's got some really good stuff." His vision of her was blurring. Hal just hoped she'd listen. She seemed to cock her head. "What, really?"

"Really," he managed to answer before fading into the drug's embrace.

When he came to again, he was alone. And terribly thirsty. And the hours and days ticked by.

At the apex of his hunger she opened the door again, her figure a silhouette against the unwavering florescent light in the hall. She carried a silk handkerchief that flashed brightly against her black leather. At first he thought it was so she could operate the door with it. He was mistaken.

"Hiya," she greeted with a smile. "Mr. Shouty takin' a break now?"

Hal's parched throat made his words sound hoarse. "It won't last."

"Oh, don't I know it. Do you trust me?" She had that mischievous gleam in her eye setting his response to wary.

"To release me? No," he huffed. "Infuriatingly, you've proven that. But otherwise? Yes, I trust you. Why?"

She smiled and walked towards his chair, then behind him. "Alex," he started to protest her proximity, but suddenly, the handkerchief was in his mouth. He felt her warmth brush against his shoulder as she secured the gag. The physical response of pressure against his fangs awakened immediately with that slight contact. He struggled to pull away, but given that he was already lashed to a chair, there was little he could do.

"Shh," she shushed as she tightened the knot. There was the sound of a pull of tape, and a rip. Alex came around, still smiling despite his distress. Leaning in seductively close, she stuck a large piece of tape over the gag of silk.

"There. Harmless," she stated, holding his gaze. Her face hovered mere inches from his as she stared at him calculating. He shook his head, trying to ward off whatever notion she had come to. His fangs had already pushed through the delicate silk.

Ignoring the warning in his eyes, Alex leaned closer and her legs pressed against his knees. With overt deliberation, she clasped his bound wrists. The touch instantly incited her scent and the darkened room lept into sharpened clarity. Hal knew his eyes had gone black.

"Safe as houses," she whispered, dropping her forehead to his. Despite his increased strain against his bonds, she leaned her weight between his knees.

Hal's every fibre of being yearned into her. The pain! The exquisite torture of her scent, her body, her ghostly heart rapidly beating beyond her bravado. He pressed his nose to her neck and breathed deeply in an embrace of the bloodlust. All the while his jaw was working against her clever gag. Alex took a shaky breath but did not let go or pull away. Instead, she seemed to yearn into him as much as he was her. Her grip tightened against his wrists.

Just when he thought he would implode from the wanting of her, she disappeared. The door to his confinement slammed shut, taking the sliver of light with it.

Her abrupt absence a shock, Hal was left torridly lustful. If it wasn't for the fact that he was still gagged, he would have believed it was all was a dream.

Hours later, she returned. Again, she incited him to manifest. No matter how he tried to fight his nature, every time she left him near-mad. Every time, she stayed longer than the previous.

Hal knew what she was doing. Alex was trying to run him through the withdrawals.

He tried not to think about how exquisitely perfect Alex had tasted. Her flesh in his teeth and blood coursing down his throat. But the more he tried to halt the thought, the more the moment was on endless repeat.

After several days of this, she must have decided he was improving for she removed the gag. He bellowed with the pull of tape and screamed at her to leave, to stop this torture.

Her disappointment was a thousand times worse than Snow's.

Alex wasn't deterred though. He'd awaken to her sitting across from him. Or leaning in the doorway. She kept him up to date with current affairs. She read his favorite books aloud, her accent a lilting and lyrical change to the well known words. No matter how many times he begged her to leave, she would not.

He began to doubt whether she was even really there, or if Alex had become merely another figmental vision living inside his head. His fantasies comprised over and over of seducing her into releasing him. Sometimes heartfelt, sometimes forceful, but it always ended the same. He would sink his teeth into her and the light would flare and he'd drain her away into darkness.

Sometimes, he wanted to skip forward. To turn ahead to the chapter in their story when he knew he would no longer feel that way.

Sometimes, he wanted to rip the false smile from her face.

Sometimes, he still thought that he should distance himself after this - to leave and never see Alex Millar again. Except he knew she would always find him. And she would never give up. Her stubbornness was a solace. Alex had seen his darkness first hand and still she refused to give up.

If her temper flared, as it often did - he knew just how to goad her - she wouldn't grace him with her anger or an argument. She would simply disappear. Hal would be at once triumphant, and painfully remorseful about her absence in the room.

Tom was another matter. Just as with Rook, the lingering scent informed Hal of which visits were real. As it did once before, his mate's increased and unwavering cheerfulness wore on him.

Eventually, Hal retreated from all of these constant irritations into a steadfast silence. In the solitude, time passed.

Withdrawals were where the past collided with the present. At first in yearning remembrance of times of excess, so starkly contrasted to now which would ultimately oscillate to remorse. Every detail sat with him brutally clear; not merely just names and faces, but whether that face held terror or incomprehension, and even down to the garments they wore. There was a time he believed he needed keepsakes of these deeds. It was redundant. Each and every single one lived, and died in him. All over again.

And the centuries passed.


"You sure about this?" Tom asked, his eyebrows mashed together with concern. He glanced dubiously at the items Alex carried, hugged close to her chest. "You really think it's time and all?"

Alex quickly nodded. This time, she was certain . "I'll drug him, and then you'll help move him."

"Long as he doesn't try for your throat again, I'll call that improved."


This time, Hal knew she was real. He could feel her true presence in the room in a way his hallucinations couldn't replicate. Alex stood silhouetted in the doorway, casually leaning against the frame. All long-legged, silk-and-leather-creaking inch of her looking at him as if he were a problem she was about to solve. She met his eyes with a shy hello of a smile, then lifted her arm, taking aim. His protest came out weak - it had been some time since he had tried to speak. She shot him square in the chest with a tranquiliser dart, then shrugged at his surprise as if in apology. "Goodnight, Hal," she said as his limbs grew heavy. Her silhouette burned brand-like in his vision until he succumbed to the inevitable blackness.

When he awoke, he was cold. And completely disoriented. Gone was the view of the door with every memorised rivet. It was replaced by smooth, grey cement. For the first time in a month, he was lying down. He was on the hospital trolley. The weight at his ankle said he was shackled. But, he had been freed from the chair. He felt… damp. She had doused him. Changed his clothing. Light cotton trousers and shirt in Departmental grey.

Hal set his head back down on the pillow. Alex had been real this time. She had drugged him. She'd had him moved. Foolish girl.

Hal sat up. He was shackled to the wall by a thick cable. The trolley was also locked to the wall. There was just enough give that he could stand. Stretch. His feet were bare. At the end of the trolley, a bottle of water was sat upon a neatly folded woolen blanket. His hands were free, the wrists still reddened and healing. Hal ran his hands through his damp hair, feeling the stiffness in his shoulders.

Near the trolley, a small section of the iron plate border had been removed from the wall. The open barrier meant that Alex could rent-a-ghost in without compromising the door, and it was behind where he had been confined to the chair. No longer certain of what had been memory, and what had been dream, Hal tested the integrity of his new restraint.

The give wasn't much. Not unless he wished to severely harm the integrity of his foot. Which he could, but wouldn't. She must have known he wouldn't. Thus confined, he would not be able to reach the door, even if he stretched across the floor. Humane movement, that was all. He was still bound. Still captive.

Hal breathed a sigh of relief and set his bare feet on the cold concrete. Shakily, he stood.

Within a modicum of safety, she was testing him. His feeling on the matter was still entirely conflicted. He hoped she wouldn't teleport in too soon. At the same time, she couldn't appear soon enough.


Hal's beard had filled out to soften the gaunt hollows of his face, and his hair had grown unruly. Alex had offered, but he still wouldn't let her get close enough to shave him. And he wasn't allowed a razor on his own. Or much of anything really.

He had started speaking to her again, which was a marked improvement, but his words were terse and without emotion. It was as if he wasn't really in the room and Alex missed him dearly. Hal had gone hollow - a shell of himself even more than the first time she had witnessed this. Alex almost preferred the tirades. At least then she knew his mind.

In recollection of how they had connected after his last detox, she renewed what she had done then to get through to him. Even though it felt a little too classic-lovestruck-girl for her, she shared her music with him. Alex made Hal a playlist.

She had stolen an old Mp3 player from her house in Glasgow, set the playlist, and left it for him to find when he awoke. It was filled with songs that made her think of him, and all the songs she thought he needed - all of life and beauty, heart and hope.

Hal didn't say anything about it. Not thanks, nor criticism. But two days later, he asked her to write down a list of songs as varied and eclectic as he was.

"Here you go," she offered back the player filled with his requests after scouring the internet and the British library for all the downloads. Some of the tracks had not been easy to find. But Hal shook his head.

"For you," was all he said, then resumed his hundredth count of press-ups.

She listened to his music alone in the attic that night. Each selection was full of swelling sadness, and so perfectly him. From classical orchestrations, to sultry jazz and Motown and blues, Hal's music encompassed a full range of heartbreak, and love. She had been so strong over the past few weeks, carrying optimism that they could eventually get back to where they had been before the full moon. For the first time since she had locked him down, Alex let her bravado fall.

The truth of everything finally hit her. It wasn't that Hal had changed. It was that the scales had tipped. Enough truth had been laid bare between them that his mask had dropped. Hal had stopped playing pretend. She cried out her anguish for all they had lost, and all they had to rebuild. But also, even through her sadness, she felt closer to him than she had in a month.

The next day, she left more of her music with him. He looked at the player, then met her eyes.

"Alex, do you want to help me? Really help?"

"Well, yeah, of course."

"Then find me something to bloody do. For the love of Christ!"

She considered his request while he caught his breath from the outburst. "Well," she pondered. "You speak French, am I right?"

Hal furrowed his brow, then calming, shrugged. "Oui."

"You could teach me," she offered.

And so together, they built a routine. In the mornings he would complete his full regime no less than four times. No matter how long it took. Afterwards, they would practise en francais, his teaching style rigid, but effective. She was a fast learner.

In the evenings, Alex invented activities by bringing a new task or game to keep his hands and mind occupied. A spool of copper wire became a pile of copper pins one day, and an orderly line of spirals the next. She brought kite strings beyond knotted that he would spend hours untangling. A jumbo box of colored paper clips that transformed into legions of rainbow lines along the wall. A crocheted afghan to yarn and yarn to a knotted chain. These meditative games along with a steady supply of crosswords and books seemed to help.

Tom and Allison took trips to the British Heart Foundation and brought back odd assortments of silverware to polish or puzzles. Once, Tom splurged on a whole tin of legos. Those lasted a full two days before the explosive tirade. Occasionally, Hal would threaten whomever, anyone near, with whatever he had, but always, Alex could remove it from him in an instant. Like a small child, his moods were fickle and spontaneous. He always apologised.

But he was coming back. Slowly, patiently she would catch little glimmers in their brief conversations those first weeks. Until finally, he asked for his dominos back. But he refused to be freed.

Outside of her time practising with Hal, Alex trained with Maggie Dan. She had become friends with Maggie, and tried not to think about how the ghost was readying her to take her place in the Department when she finally passed on. It was bound to happen someday though, Alex theorised.

The old ghost was teaching her everything she knew. Not just how to assist the Department's cause, but also how to teleport more places than Alex herself, or even Hal had been. Maggie remarked on more than one occasion just how much of a natural Alex more Alex expanded her telepathic abilities, the easier it all became. Alex learned how to sip at memory. Similar to how she had used Hal's memories to teleport, but in a way where she wouldn't have to take him with her. It was an extremely simple solution to what had caused them trouble. Alex could tug out a sense of place from just about anyone, then travel there herself.

One evening she asked Hal if she could "taste" a few new places from him, much to his dismay. "But you've been to all sorts of exotic places. You've been Tibet and Turkey."

"And I've never wanted to kill people more than in the Grand Bazaar," he countered. "All the shouting, all the cheap trinkets. It's akin to an overheated stampede. Not my thing."

She laughed. "Ever been to Australia? Or America?" Alex asked, idylly.

"Yes and yes."

"Jeez. You really have been everywhere. I guess the better question would be where haven't you been?" Her question was met with a long pause while Hal thought it over. "Um... wow. You really shouldn't have to think about it that long."

"I've been to countries that do not exist any longer. It gets a little difficult to keep track of. But... there are many areas of the far East I've never been to. That was Hetty's territory. Bissau and other regions of west Africa… Canada. Several of the island nations. Hawaii."

"What?" Alex perked up. "Never Hawaii? Which isn't a country any longer, by the way."

"I'm aware of that. But no. There never was a reason."

"And we live at Honolulu Heights! Well then, I know what I want for Christmas. We should totally go to Hawaii."

"Not Singapore?" He teased her with a rare smile. Neither of them spoke of the fact that he was still shackled to a wall, and Christmas was less than a week away.

Nor did Christmas really come to Honolulu Heights. Tom tried. He strung up paper garland and asked his friend home. But Hal still refused to be freed. Allison ended up taking Tom to her family holiday which he was incredibly nervous about, but Alex assured him he'd be fine. "Just be ye darling self!"

The house was impossibly lonely once they'd gone, so Alex popped home to eavesdrop on her own family. In typical Yule Eve tradition, her house was filled with extended family, all talking at once. Alex stood next to the window outside and out of sight for hours, listening to what everyone had been up to. Ryan had caught up his marks in school and Gus was even seeing a girl. Her youngest brother had taken up music theory with her old keyboard. He wanted to join a band. Her Da was working too much, as always, but he seemed well. He'd cut back his drinking and had even shed a few. Alex's portrait still sat center of the mantle, next to her mum's. She was at first happy to see her family, but deeply saddened too.

Earlier in the month she had stolen Hal's Department-issued credit card and ordered each of them a gift, but then had returned it all. As much as she wanted to, she just couldn't be there for them in that way. Announcing herself as a ghost - visibility or no - would only hurt them more. So with nowhere else to go, Alex came back to the Archive.

The place wasn't as silent as it nearly always was these days. Instead, a soft crooning of Christmas music could be heard coming from Rook's wing. When she rent-a-ghosted to the open doorway, it was to the scene of Rook, Nave & Maggie playing cards. An open bottle of Lagavulin sat on the table between Dominic Rook and Mike Nave. Neither of them had family to go to apparently.

"Ah! We've summoned the visible ghost!" Nave said jovially, his cheeks ruddy from the liquor. "Scotch for a Scot? Join us, Millar?"

"Finally hitting the good stuff there Mike?" she quipped as she came into the room.

"Only on special occasions. And for a lass as sweet as you I'll even have another!" He declared and raised his glass.

"Cheers," Rook said then tipped back his own glass. As he set down the empty tumbler, he also laid down his hand. "Royal Flush."

"Maggie, you better not be slipping him cards," Nave scowled.

Maggie scrawled a quick reply on the whiteboard at her side, "Hey now, I'm playing too!" Maggie smiled warmly and pulled out a chair for Alex. "Happy Christmas, girlie. Take a night off."

On New Year's Eve, when it had been exactly sixty-one days since Hal had drank blood, Tom and Allison did something Alex never expected. They brought Hal a cake. Candles and all. As many glowing little sticks of wax as could physically fit. The thing was actually sagging under the amount of candles. It looked completely ridiculous.

"If you sing, I will kill you," Hal threatened, giving the cake a very dubious stare and setting down his book.

Tom just laughed. "I thought you needed one. One that weren't anything to do with the vampire. You know when you were turned, but that's no birthday."

Hal furrowed his brow, serious despite the ridiculous cake. "It's been celebrated quite extravagantly from time to time."

Tom paused to look down to the extravagantly ridiculous birthday cake he was holding, but Allison gave him a nudge. He cleared his throat, and started into a rehearsed debate.

"I know that's the count you keep. But what about our Hal? What about me best mate? I wanted to give you a birthday. Alex done said when you left with Leo was near New Years. Besides, the same time that history keeps count seemed like as good a time as any."

"And you'll always get fireworks," Alex added, enjoying Tom's line of thought.

"Traditionally, that is for Chinese New Year. The western world merely adopted it," Allison clarified.

"Right," Tom nodded. "And we're adopting this as your birthday. You won't change me mind, Hal. Now blow these out before we set Rook's nice Archive on fire. And then you're coming home."

"Home." Hal stated, skeptically eyeing the flaming cake.

"The house needs you," Alex added to the debate. "Tom is trying to build a chicken coop in the back garden."

"Well," he paused then met her eyes. "At least that's more realistic than a swimming pool."


Rook tested him before he left, casually coming in to bid farewell while Hal was tying his laces.

Casually, with a small, fresh papercut.

Hal noticed of course, but then blatantly ignored it. The craving was palpable as it always would be, but so was the craving for home and his own bed. And a hot bath.

"You are welcome to return, if ever you find the need," Rook said carefully after his obvious deliberation on whether Hal had passed his test. Hal mentally applauded Rook's fortitude that he had risked himself with the trial.

"I cannot say that I'm fond of the offer, necessarily. But thank you." Hal met the blonde man's scrutinous gaze. "Let us hope the need does not arise again."

Catching the undertone to his words, Dominic Rook merely stepped aside from the door, allowing him to take his leave. Alex and Tom were waiting in the corridor.

The bones of the old Bed and Breakfast creaked familiar, and the sounds of the neighborhood faintly carried from beyond the brick. Hal sank deeper into the tub, letting the water soothe and wash away the scent of the Archive. Of concrete and pain.

He opened his eyes to the sight of Alex watching him. She blushed, then made to disappear again. "Alex," he said, causing her to stay. His gaze softened as he allowed himself to look at her. And she stared back.

"Just checking on ye. No drownin, now," she teased with a bare smile.

"Drowning is not so pitiful as the attempt to rise," he muttered, recalling the snippet of an Emily Dickinson poem. Alex just merely arched an eyebrow. "Nevermind," he said.

"It's a wee soon to be quoting poetry at me," she said, her smile rising. "You haven't even cleaned the kitchen yet. Though, the bath looks loads better."

"I merely sorted the linens. And cleaned the tub. And the sink," he admitted.

Her smile lit up her eyes. "Well, yeah. Of course you did."

He just shook his head. Then the corner of his mouth raised in the barest smile. "It is… nice to hear sounds again," he said. At her befuddled expression, he elaborated. "Cars. And the train. And, across the street, they're having a row again. Life," he shrugged. "Humanity. It always changes, and yet it never does."

"No more forced air," she agreed, even as she worried at the ring on her forefinger with her thumb. All the awkwardness she was trying to avoid came out clearly. "Hal, how are you really?"

"Do you really wish to know?" He asked in turn.

Alex bit her lip but nodded. "Yeah, I do."

He glanced away toward the window as he answered. "I want to drink down the bar and kill the neighbors," he admitted, then looked back to her. "But I won't."

She didn't appear surprised, just saddened. "How long will it be like this?"

"It was always like this. I just used to be better at hiding it from you."

"Oh," she said, then let the silence span between them. Her eyes glanced to his torso, and she quickly cleared her throat. "You need aught?"

He followed her glance, then met her eyes. "No more guard service?"

Alex shrugged. "Nah. It's just something I've gotten better at it. I'll be right upstairs, if'n you need."

He took a deep breath, then gave a nod. "Probably best."

"We've still got a long way back, don't we?" Lingering in the doorway, she finally voiced the question that he knew had plagued her for months. Hal almost answered. Instead, he simply nodded.

"Goodnight, Hal," she said simply before disappearing again.

"Goodnight, Alex," he answered, but she was already gone.


Alex tiptoed down the stairs - ghosting over the squeaky steps - then she unlatched Hal's door and stealthily peeked in.

Hal was lying on his back with an expanse of empty bed stretched around him. She couldn't tell if he was asleep or not. Quietly, she entered the room, reminded of the time when he was healing from Nave's gunshot. Sneaking in to check on him…

Alex stood next to the bed, just aching to join him, but didn't. He was clean shaven and Alex wondered how long that had taken him. His body seemed relaxed, resting. His face, expressionless. Even when his eyes opened to stare back at her.

Alex was caught silent, not knowing what to say, not knowing where to start. Especially when he moved over to his side of the bed while holding her gaze.

Alex hesitated, but then took the invitation. She plopped down on top of the covers, but was careful not to touch him. Hal turned his attention to the mysteries of the ceiling.

"It's raining," was all he eventually said. She didn't know how to respond to that, so just sat silently, unsure of what he wanted. Restlessly, Hal turned on his side, returning his gaze to her face.

"Is it hard to be back?" she asked after a moment passed without him saying anything, and he shook his head.

"No. It's good to be back," he said softly. "Sleep won't find me tonight though."

"Ah. You got accustomed to all that quiet," she mocked with a smile.

"No, it's you," he said, then elaborated at her confusion. "The barrier in the Archive subdued it. I can feel you."

"Oh," she said and sat up a bit, ensuring she still wasn't touching him.

"It will be okay. I'm just," he trailed, searching for words. "Thinking about you. And about Hangori."

"I've been curious," she broached, emboldened by his candidness. "When you joined with Snow, who was your ghost? What was their story?"

In these moments she had learned that he would answer such questions. He would always answer. He cleared his throat, caught off guard a little, but remembering . "A man," he replied. "He had been killed by the vampire who abducted and recruited his wife. Death didn't part them though. The ghost remained until eventually, he fought off the vampire. Which is how they caught Snow's attention."

"Is it always like that? Lovers?"

"No," Hal shook his head. "More often they don't know."

"Like how Felipe didn't know. And I didn't know, at first," she ruminated, relaxing against the pillow despite the thread of their conversation. "How did you know?"

"When I took your hand at the club, you felt different than a normal ghost. Solid. Not as much as you do now," he said. "But enough to give me pause. I didn't really believe it until later."

"So, this thing between us," Alex mused. "It wouldn't have happened if Cutler hadn't killed me." She could tell by the look in Hal's eyes that he'd had the thought already, but he glanced away. "To have found love in such a way," she smiled. "Totally assed-backwards. Figures."

He sighed, but didn't argue. They regarded each other for a moment longer and Alex could feel what he meant. All evening she'd had this hyper-awareness of him and thought it had been purely emotional. But she could feel the draw between them. The urge to simply reach out and hug him was strong. So she tried to squash it by speaking aloud another musing thought.

"Do you regret it? Killing Cutler's wife?"

Hal furrowed his brow, and a brief darkness passed through his eyes. Then he looked at her intensely. He didn't have to answer, and Alex regretted asking. She knew it was complicated. Even if he regretted the deed that set so much else in motion - like dominos to fall - it still led to this moment, here, now.

Hal considered her for a length of time, then took a steadying breath to steel his control. For a moment, she thought that he would simply tell her goodnight again with the implication that she should leave. But his eyes were soft when he uncurled his hand, beckoning.

After two months of keeping their distance, Hal was inviting her to test it. Gingerly, as if the contact would shock, Alex brushed her fingertip against his. Magnetic and strong, the soft touch tugged at the bond between them. Closing his eyes with a small sigh, Hal slid his fingers between hers.

And there it still was. The pull through her core. Their electric spark. She clasped his hand tightly and her pulse beat softly in the joined space between them. Alex settled against the pillows and Hal's hazel eyes sought her own. It was a small step - both simultaneously simple and dangerously complex. He held her hand and didn't let go.

Together, they listened to the rain come down.