I was determind not to like the series, then found myself hooked when I finally got round to watching. I'm finding it difficult to tap into these two - they're both fairly inscrutable - but I'm intrigued.
This is set post s1 ep17.
As usual, I doubt the characters would appreciate being mine - they're better off with their current owners.
He just wants to feel alive again. Just for a moment, the way he used to before his life became subsumed by the partnership and its accompanying worries.
That's why he touched her, he tells himself. Just to feel alive again.
It wasn't a test. No, he tries to convince himself, he won't be that man. He hates that man, the one who tempts her just to see if he still has the ability – the power – to make her fall.
He doesn't remember if he already knew what would happen if he raised his fingers to brush her cheek, so faintly at first, as though he hoped she wouldn't notice, ridiculous thought though that might be.
He does remember the way her face pressed into his palm, making his hand twitch and his wrist almost pull away automatically.
They don't touch. And this is clearly why.
He's known he wants her ever since she reappeared in his life. That didn't surprise him, though – he's wanted her since they first met, all those years ago. What surprises him is the resurfacing of his protective instinct, purposely buried for so long beneath a succession of short-term girlfriends and the occasional one-night stand.
It's been six months, he reminds himself. Maybe it isn't so surprising that he responded like that after six months with nobody else in his bed.
And then he'd kissed her, so briefly the first time that he felt regret as he moved away; if this was to be his only chance to kiss her, he should take advantage of it, revel in the opportunity. In the seconds before she kissed him back, his heart flipped in a way he hasn't felt for well over a decade, his brain frantically cataloguing the softness of her lips, the warmth of her mouth, the way the touch of her hand seems to burn through to his skin. Even as he lost himself in the kiss, he was trying to work out how long it would take before she came to her senses.
That was two hours ago. Now, twisting a glass in his hands, he wonders why he was so stupid. He's know for weeks – months, if he forces himself to face it – that they were only skirting the void they could so easily fall into, not walking away from it. If he's honest – and he thinks he might as well be – he's enjoyed knowing their chemistry still ignites, that he can still make her wonder about the veiled meanings behind his words. And it was stupid beyond belief to think he was going to remain immune to the crackling electricity between them. Chemistry affects both elements.
He calls her before he can stop himself, not sure what he can say if she answers. When the call goes to voicemail, he hangs up without leaving a message. There's no point – he still doesn't know what he wants to say. She's home with the family she's fought so hard to keep together, whatever the cracks that remain, and he shouldn't be interfering. When he'd invited her into the firm, he'd promised himself he would stay away from the mess of her home life. He doesn't want to be a man who causes problems for a family already stretching the glue to breaking point.
It wasn't a test, he repeats to himself more firmly. A test would have mattered less to him; it would have been a calculated move to assess her state of mind, not the swirl of heat and instinct that he knows engulfed them both for those short moments. He wouldn't be thinking about it two hours later, wondering how it will affect tomorrow. Wondering if he can think about it ever happening again – without the post-mortem he's currently embroiled within.
Maybe it was a test. Just not for her.
Still hoping the thrill of writing will return to me at some point. In the meantime, all comments gratefully received.