I decided to expand on the idea a little. I switched between Lilly's point of view and Scotty's this chapter. Hope it isn't too confusing.

Disclaimer: Cold Case isn't mine.

Two weeks now. Two weeks of bein' partners and pretendin' nothin' at all happened between us. Two weeks of pleasant hellos and complainin' 'bout the break room coffee (which I know now Lil doesn't mind too much about, but I ain't supposed to know) and workin' on a case from '01. Two weeks and not even a subtle look from Lil to show that we got 'drunk' off our asses and were more than partners for a few amazin' hours.

I kinda wish I could forget. I wish I could forget that night ever happened 'cause I ain't good at hidin' what I feel, like Lil is. Now I can't look at her without rememberin' how soft her lips felt, without rememberin' the way she felt crushed against me. I look at her, remember that beautifully alive smile she sported, and know now that the woman I see at work is only half of Lil. Half of a woman who can be breathtakin' when she lets all her defenses go.

"Hey, Scotty. Scotty!"

I jerk at the call and look up to realize Lil's standin' above me, her coat and scarf on, her expression bemused.

"Earth to Valens," she teases.

I sit up straighter and clear my throat. "You leavin'?"

She nods. "Yeah, I thought I'd drop by the Stevens house, see how they're doing."

"You do remember there's already a patrol car staked out there, right?" I say. "Ain't anythin' you can do right now."

She shrugs. "I just want to see if the patrol officers need anything."

Right. Just to see if the patrol officers need anythin'. She thinks I don't see through her, but I do. I saw the moment she walked into the Stevens house and set eyes on those two little girls how hard the case hit her. Two little blond girls, age thirteen and age eleven, precious and naïve and wonderin' with that heartbreakin' innocence of theirs what had happened to their mother. Lil connects with cases all the time, but when she really connects, she doesn't let go, not for anythin'. And she suddenly develops a need to visit the families for absolutely no reason.

I smile knowingly and pretend to play dumb. "Sure, Lil. Have fun with that."

She smiles too, knowin' I know, and says, "Don't get home too late, Valens. God knows you drive dangerously enough during the day."

My smile widens, and I wave as she leaves the bullpen after collectin' her gun. I watch her tuck the gun into its holster at her hip and admire how absolutely…sexy she looks with that firearm on her. I ain't usually into those fierce, independent types who can hand a man's ass to him on a platter, but I gotta say, Lil all holstered up and ready for action makes me wanna do some…pretty unprofessional things to her. Especially now that I know what kissin' her feels like.

But I don't move. I force myself to just give her another wave when she turns back around one last time and watch her disappear toward the elevators. The whole bullpen seems duller without her workin' feverishly across from me, and I sigh as I flip open the files. I got a couple of forms to fill out still before I can get home, and I think about the empty night ahead. Yep, nothin' to look forward to until next mornin'—when I can get back to headquarters and see Lil again. When did my life become so pathetic? I've become a love-struck fool.

With a rueful chuckle to myself, I study the case files another time before clickin' on my pen and fillin' out the first form. Name? Marie Stevens. Age? 32. Cause of death? Stabbed twice in the chest. And on, and on…

"Still here, Scotty?"

I look up to see Boss pokin' his head outta his office. "Yeah," I answer, noddin'.

"Everyone took off?"

I nod again. "Miller and Vera left about two hours ago. Jefferies and Lil left maybe an hour ago."

Stillman chuckles. "You working yourself to death there, Scotty?"

I shrug. "I got paperwork to do." And I ain't exactly up to goin' home to that empty apartment and lyin' in my bed thinkin' of Lil.

"Okay," Stillman says. "I might take off soon too. You should get some rest, okay? We've been on this case for almost two weeks now on barely a full night's sleep."

I nod. "Yeah, Boss, I will. I'll leave after this." I gesture to the last two forms I have, and Stillman nods. A moment later, he leaves his office, slippin' on his coat. He says good night to me and collects his things from the lockers before turnin' for the elevators. And then it's just me sittin' in the bullpen, me and a few other detectives pullin' a late night. With a sigh, I redouble my attention on the forms.

Relations? Husband, Jerry, kids, Amelia (11) and Jackie (13). Address? 514 Northwood Dr.

The phone rings. I clear my throat and reach for it. "Detective Scotty Valens, Homicide."

"Hey, Scotty, it's Aaron."

I sit up a little straighter. "Aaron? Hey, man, what's up?"

"It's…it's bad, man."

I ain't too panicked. Aaron Terrence is an officer from Arson, one of the guys I sometimes grab drinks with. My brows furrow as I frown in confusion. Arson? What's that got to do with me?

"Yeah?" I ask. "What is it?"

"It's an arson downtown, big one."

I still don't see what this has got to do with me. "Yeah?"

"And it's…" He hesitates for a long moment before blowin' out a breath. "Scotty, it's that house you got staked out."

I freeze. "It's the Stevens'? It's…" I fumble for the case files, tryin' to find that damn address. "It's 514 Northwood?"

He sighs. "Yeah, it's that address."

I groan and run a hand through my hair as I lean back in my chair. "God. Is anyone dead?"

"We don't know. Just got here, found the patrol car of the two guys stakin' out the place."

"What about the guys?"

"Unconscious," he replies grimly. "Blows to the head." He pauses for a long moment, then says hurriedly, "Hang on, one of them just woke up. I'm gonna talk to him, okay?"

"Yeah," I say, mind whirrin'. Someone's torched the Stevens' house? It means we've gotten close, close to the killer. I think back to the clues we've gotten and try to connect them. The husband, the bartender, that jealous ex-girlfriend…And then, in that moment we detectives live for, everything clicks together.

The brother. Of course. It's so clear I curse myself for not seein' it earlier. He's the only one with everything—the means, the not-so-solid alibi, the strength. But the motives? I don't know. But I have that feelin' in my gut, the one that knows he's the one.

I grab my coat and rush for the lockers. Takin' my gun, I head for the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevators. I pound down the stairwell three steps at a time, wonderin' if the Stevens made it out okay. Hopin' the firefighters ain't too late to save 'em.

"Scotty."

I'd almost forgotten I had Aaron on the line. "Yeah?"

"It's…you sitting down?"

Somethin' in his tone makes me stop dead in my tracks. Wonderin' wildly if he's about to tell me that one of the Stevens—one of the girls—didn't make it out okay, I swallow hard. "No. Just tell me."

"The policeman who just woke up? He told me the last thing he remembers is Detective Rush going in the house."

My blood turns to ice. I feel like I've been hit by a sledgehammer.

"She went in at about 9:30," Aaron continues, his voice grim. "Last thing the policeman remembers is looking at the clock at 10:45."

10:45. I check my watch wildly. It's 11:30. Goddamn it.

"She didn't come out?" I ask desperately. "He didn't see her come out?"

"No, he didn't. Said she was in there the whole time."

Damn it. Damn it. What're the chances of Lil gettin' out of the house before the arsonist set the house to flames? What're the chances of Lil not callin' me the instant she gets word the house is on fire? Which means she does know and that she can't call. Which means she's still in the house.

Goddamn it.

I sprint down the remaining flights of stairs and burst out into the night air. Yankin' my car door open, I shove the keys into the ignition and take off down the street, right on through the red light.

"Scotty?" Aaron says in my ear.

"I'm on my way," I say tightly, blowin' through another red light. "Get…just…Just get that goddamn fire out!"

I snap the phone shut and floor the pedal. My thoughts race around and around in an endless circle of shock and cold fear. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Why the hell had Lil been there? Why the hell hadn't I gone with her? She could've used backup. She could've used some help in there. Why the hell wasn't I there for her?

It takes under ten minutes for me to screech onto Northwood. By now, the house is lit like a beacon, flames leapin' for the night sky, and my heart is in my throat. I pray Lil got out okay.

I don't even bother yankin' the keys out of the ignition before I leap out and sprint for toward the fire trucks and police cars cordonin' off the area. A policeman throws up his hand to stop me, but I shove my badge in his face without stoppin'. Eyes wild, I rush up to the firefighters on the scene and spot Aaron by one of the ambulances.

"Is she out?" I breathe, pullin' to stop in front of him. "Are they still inside?"

He looks at me sympathetically, and I feel like he's punched me in the gut. "The fire's too intense to go in right now. They're still trying to kill it, and there hasn't been any sign of anyone. I'm so sorry, Scotty."

I don't think I've ever felt more terrified in my life, except maybe when Lil was shot. I swallow hard and try to keep some semblance of sanity as I stare at the blazin' house.

What if she's gone?

No. No, no, no. I ain't goin' down that road. Lil is fine. She's strong. She ain't gettin' killed by someone like Jay Stevens, a paper-pusher who probably doesn't do any exercise other than walkin' to his car in the parkin' lot. She ain't gettin' killed period.

She's gonna be okay.

Hot. Burning hot. I can't breathe.

I try to suck in a breath, and it sears my lungs, sending me into a coughing fit. Eyes burning, I turn over onto my side, throwing up a hand to shield my face from the heat.

What the hell happened? Where am I?

I push myself weakly to my knees and try to breathe evenly. The air is thick with smoke and heat, and my head is throbbing. For a moment, I just kneel there, trying to get my bearings.

The Stevens house. Jay Stevens walking in pleasantly, smiling and joining his family for dinner. And then Jay Stevens passing me, still smiling. A blinding pain, then darkness.

I reach up and feel a cut running across my forehead above my left eye. Okay, breathe. I don't seem to be hurt anywhere else. My chest is tight though, and I look around for the first time.

Flames. Huge and reaching, they're everywhere, engulfing what's left of the dining table and spreading rapidly across the ceiling. Heart pounding, I scramble back away from the fire, eyes tracking from side to side. Where the hell is the exit?

I suck in a breath and can't stop coughing. Smoke inhalation. I know it isn't good and that I won't last that much longer breathing this air. I've got to get out.

The living room is to the right. Forcing myself to my feet, I stagger out of the dining room, ignoring the pounding in my head. Blood runs into my eye, but I brush it away impatiently and keep going, one hand on the wall for support. It's getting harder to breathe.

I stumble through the living room and on through the hallway to the front door. Which, to my horror, is locked. I jerk on the doorknob and swear, slamming my fist against the door. Damn it. Damn it. The little window next to the door is too small; unless I suddenly drop fifty pounds, I'll never get through. Damn it. Panic courses through my system, overwhelming and unstoppable.

The cop in me slams down the walls. Breathe, Lilly. Get a grip. Breathe.

Taking a steadying breath, I stagger back into the hallway, only to find Eric Stevens, the father, slumped against the doorframe. Relief rushes through me; at least one of them is still alive.

I drop to my knees heavily beside him. "Mr. Stevens? Mr. Stevens! Eric!"

He opens his eyes sluggishly. "D—detective?"

"Come on," I say, grabbing his arm. "We've got to get out of here. The house is on fire."

He glances around in disbelief and stumbles heavily to his feet. "The house…what happened? What's going on?"

"No idea," I tell him. "The front door's locked. We'll have to go for a window."

He nods slowly, and we make our painstaking way for the nearest window in the living room. Eric leans heavily on my shoulder, and I spare him a worried glance. His face is ashen, and his breathing is shallow. He must have inhaled more smoke than I have. He'll be dead in minutes if we don't get out—and so will I.

I stifle the panic. We reach the window, and I rip off the burning curtains, using my sleeve to shield my face from the heat. Eric fumbles with the locks on the window for a moment before cursing.

"They're stuck!" he shouts frantically. "They're stuck!"

Terror. Pure terror washes through me at his words. The flames are clawing at us, we're on the verge of inhaling a fatal amount of smoke, and the window's stuck? Damn it!

It takes my scrambled brain a moment to remember the gun at my hip. Cursing my stupidity, I weakly pull Eric back from the window.

"Let me," I say with a cough, drawing my weapon. Aiming it at the window, I shoot it out. Glass shatters deafeningly and rains down toward us, and wonderful, fresh air rushes in. It gives me a measure of strength and, to my horror, fans the flames licking at every corner of the room. We're practically swimming in fire now.

"Hurry," I urge, pushing Eric toward the window. He tumbles out weakly into the grass beyond, and I start to follow.

"My children," Eric breathes, coughing violently into the grass. "Detective, what about my—what about my girls?"

I freeze. The girls. I'd almost forgotten. God, how had I almost forgotten them? Those two little sweet girls, all blond curls, blue eyes, and shining smiles. Those girls that reminded me of the little girl I'd once been too, with my own baby sister with golden curls and innocent blue eyes.

Maybe they're already out. Maybe—maybe they got out first. It makes sense, doesn't it? They're smart girls. They would have found a way out.

I cling desperately to the thought. Reaching for the window frame, I take a step, the flames behind me crackling so loudly I almost miss the sound. Almost.

Crying. Girls crying. From inside the house.

No, no, no.

I hesitate, torn. I should just throw myself out onto the grass and let the firefighters handle this sort of thing. I shouldn't risk my life on a suicide mission for almost complete strangers. I should save myself.

Right. And self-preservation has worked so well in the past.

"Stay here," I order Eric curtly. Without waiting for an answer, I bolt back into the heat.

My heart leaps at the gunshot. Almost before I can make a conscious decision, I'm sprintin' in the direction of the sound. My head's racin' with all sorts of thoughts. Lil's been shot. Lil's shot someone. One of the kids've been shot. It goes round and round, none of the thoughts makin' much sense.

I reach the side of the house, breathin' hard. The air's thicker over here, thick with smoke and heat. In the grass, a lone figure coughs and spits. It ain't Lil.

"Hey!" I shout, proddin' him. It's Eric Stevens. "Hey, where's Lil? Where's Lil?"

He looks up at me incomprehensively, and I resist the urge to shake him. Instead, I just ask again, heart in my throat, "Where's Detective Lilly Rush?"

He coughs, eyes waterin'. Weakly, he points inside the house.

She ain't…she ain't still in there, is she? Damn it! If Eric Stevens can get out, why the hell can't she? She's stronger than this! I swallow back the terror.

"She went back," Eric says feebly, pale sweat coatin' his brow. "She went back for the girls."

Good God. I feel like cryin'. I feel like tearin' my goddamn hair out. And I feel stupidly, stupidly proud of my partner's courage.

Damn it, Lil, I curse inwardly. Why the hell didn't you just get out? Why the hell didn't you just save yourself?

But I know. I know why, 'cause if I'd been in the house, I woulda done the same thing. But knowin' that doesn't make the fact any easier to bear.

I start for the window automatically, but the heat and someone's hand clampin' down on my arm stops me in my tracks.

"No, Scotty," Aaron says quietly but firmly. "It's too dangerous. No one's going in."

"My partner's in there," I snap, jerkin' my arm away. "Lil's in there. She…God, she went back in for the girls."

Aaron shakes his head. "I know. I heard. But, Scotty…Scotty! Listen to me! We go in there, and we're risking our lives too, maybe for nothing."

"It ain't nothin'!" I shout, furious. "It's Lil! It's my partner!" It's…God, it's the woman I love.

Why am I so goddamn helpless?

"Scotty." Aaron gives me a shake as paramedics rush up to Eric, pullin' out their first aid kits. I can't seem to focus on them. Distractedly, I stare at them until Aaron shakes me harder. "Scotty."

I look at him, the anger suddenly meltin' away. I feel suddenly weary. Numb. "What?"

"We can't do anything," he says lowly, "you understand? We can't do anything until the fire's out. Now Lilly's strong, right?"

Slowly, I nod. "She's stronger than anyone I know."

He nods too and claps me on the shoulder. "Good. Then you gotta believe in that, okay? You believe in her strength. She's gonna get out of this."

Yes. She's gonna get out of this. I force myself to believe it.

The crying comes from a shut door at the top of the stairs. I jerk the doorknob, only to find that it's locked. Damn it. Drawing my gun, I take a steadying breath before shooting the lock. In my weakened state, dazed by smoke and dizzy with the cut in my head, it takes two kicks to get the door open. Smoke rushes out, temporarily blinding me.

"Detective."

I whip the gun up instantly, training it on the vague form I see through the smoke. "Jay." His name comes out on a whisper as the smoke chokes me.

I can just barely make out his smile. "I didn't think you'd survive the smoke to get up here," he says. "I underestimated you."

"Where are the girls, Jay?" I ask tightly, stepping carefully into the room. The smoke's thicker up here—smoke rises, I remember—and I duck down a little, eyes narrowed, to try and get a clearer look at the man in the room. He's sitting down on the ground covered in smoke, smiling peacefully—insanely. I repress a shudder at the sheer craziness in his eyes.

"The girls?" he repeats. "Right here, Detective, where else?"

And then I notice the two forms on the ground beside him, one laying across his lap and the other in front of his crossed legs. They've stopped crying. In a moment of cold fear, I think they're dead.

"You bastard," I swear, rage coursing through me. "You son of a bitch. What the hell have you done?"

He strokes one of the girl's hair and looks up at me. "Done? Nothing, Detective. Nothing beyond taking back what should have been mine."

My hands tighten on the gun. "These girls aren't yours, Jay. They're Eric's. You can't take back what's not yours."

His smile falters. "These girls should have been mine, Detective. This whole—Eric's whole life should have been mine. I should have gotten the beautiful wife, the nice car, the two sweet little girls!" His voice raises, his face contorting in anger. "I asked Marie to marry me first, not Eric. He stole my wife! My wife! Mine!"

He's gone off the deep end. He isn't going to talk. And if we stay here any longer, we're both going to die.

"Last chance," I say, sounding much, much calmer than I feel. "Take the girls, and let's get out of here, Jay. You can still get through this. This isn't the end."

He smiles again, almost serenely, and it's the most insane thing I've ever seen, this man grinning in the midst of smoke and flames, happy. And it's what decides me.

I pull the trigger. The bullet cracks, louder even than the roaring fire, and he jerks in surprise, his mouth open as he falls backwards. I'm already rushing forward, reaching for the girls, praying, praying they're all right.

"Amelia?" I shake the younger girl and feel an immense rush of relief as she stirs. Thank God. She sits up slowly, coughing, and I know she's inhaled way too much smoke. I've got to get both girls out of here, fast. Jackie doesn't respond when I call her, but there's a pulse. After a moment of gathering my breath, which is getting harder and harder to do, I heave Jackie into my arms and take Amelia's hand.

"Come on, Amelia," I choke out, staggering for the door. "We're gonna get out of here."

I reach the stairs and hesitate. Flames are licking up its length, and it looks way too dangerous to even try. But it's the only way out. After a brief moment, I release Amelia and instruct her, "Go to the window in the living room, okay? Get out of the house."

At the top of the stairs, I wait for her to reach the bottom, heart in my throat. I'm terrified the stairs will cave in on her, but, miracle beyond miracles, she makes it safely. Only when she disappears into the living room do I start to move. Carefully balancing Jackie, I make my way down the first few steps, but on the fifth one, the entire structure creaks alarmingly. I freeze, heart pounding hard against my ribs. Please, please, please…

"Detective?"

The childish voice makes me jerk, and I realize that Jackie's awake. She raises her head groggily from my shoulder and looks at me in confusion. "Detective, what's happening?"

Good, she's awake. I don't know if the stairs can bear my weight, but it has a better chance of bearing hers. Hurriedly, I set her down and say, "Get out of the house, Jackie. Down the stairs and get out the window in the living room. You understand me?"

She nods and practically flies down the stairs. I breathe a sigh of relief when she disappears the same way Amelia did. And now it's just me left.

I start down the stairs carefully, breathing hard. On the seventh stair, everything goes to hell.

The entire stairway gives way in a creaking groan. I grab wildly for anything to hold onto, any support, but it's all crumbling. The wood beneath my feet crack as it snaps, and I'm falling through in a blinding whir of flames and splintering stairs. Falling…falling…

And then crushing impact. I hit the ground hard, something cracking, and debris rains down around me, one plank of wood crashing down inches from my nose. For a moment, I just lay there, dazed, trying to breathe. I wonder wildly if help is coming. Are the firefighters on their way? Are they heading inside right now, looking for survivors? Will they make it in time?

And when I have ever relied on someone else to save me?

So I roll over painfully onto my stomach, trying to push myself to my knees. Agony lances up my leg, and I cry out into the smoke, tears of pain blurring my vision. No. I can't be hurt. No, no, no…

I try to move my left leg again and the pain almost makes me pass out. It's broken, or at least injured. Damn it. Damn it. Clenching my fist in frustration, I squeeze my eyes shut and slam walls down on the panic. Think, Lilly, think…

With a mind hazy with smoke and pain, I can't seem to think of anything useful. All my instincts are screaming at me to just get the hell out of there, so I try. Weakly, coughing violently, I drag myself on my hands for the living room. The fire roars up all around me, the heat searing. The light-headedness is almost blinding. I can't breathe. Everything hurts. It's too hard to move. I just…

Just stop, I think wearily, almost numbly. It's over. I close my eyes.

Goddamn it, Lil, don't you give up on me!

My eyes fly open. Scotty. Scotty's voice. Here?

Get yourself together, Lil, and get the hell out of there.

Scotty?

Don't think! Just do!

I almost laugh. I'm hallucinating up a storm if I'm hearing Scotty's voice in my head. But there's something there, something in his voice, that gives me strength. I can't stop. I've never given up before, and I'm not going to give up now.

Gritting my teeth, I force away the haze on my mind and pull myself to my knees. Dragging my injured leg behind me, I crawl for the living room. Flames leap and dance around me, and half the inner wall is gone now, but I can still see the window, almost glittering in the darkness of the night, clear of smoke. Almost there. Ten feet…five…

And then my arms buckle. All the smoke, heat, and pain has finally taken its toll. I just can't hold myself up anymore. Fight it, I think weakly. But I can't. I can't anymore.

Darkness overwhelms me.

When the first girl pops out, I feel like I'm dreamin'. She's sooty, coughin', and bleary-eyed, and she's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. If she can get out, if this little girl who's barely eleven years old can get out, then Lil can. Lil will.

Paramedics and firefighters rush over to her, shoutin' and grinnin'. They grab her away from the lickin' flames and swarm her with blankets and medicine. I just stand behind them, starin' hard into the almost-blindin' flames, waitin' for that second blond head to pop out. Waitin'…waitin'…

When she comes, I almost miss her. One moment there're just flames, and the next, there's a blond head coughin' and splutterin' through the smoke. My heart leaps, and I reach forward, Lil's name on my lips.

And then I see her face, and I feel like I've been punched for about the fifth time that night. It's Jackie. Goddamn it, it's Jackie. I know I should be glad. I should be overjoyed. But I ain't. I'm despairin', because every second she doesn't come out, it's another second she might not. It's another second she might be gone forever.

I unfreeze. Rushin' over to the girls, I demand, "Where's Lil? Where's the detective, huh, girls?"

"They can't talk," one of the paramedics protests, but I shove him out of the way. Kneelin' in front of Amelia, I take her hand and look into her eyes.

"Tell me where Detective Rush is," I plead with her, as close to beggin' as I've ever gotten. "Do you know where she is?"

Exhausted and afraid, she looks back at me with blue eyes that remind me so much of Lil that I can't help but shiver. I stare into her eyes, searchin' for any sign of comprehension, for any sign of recognition.

"Sir!" It's that paramedic again, tryin' to pull Amelia away. I keep a tight hold on the girl's hand, holdin' her eyes.

"Please," I say, voice breakin'. If I was thinkin' straight, I would be embarrassed. If. But I ain't. All I care about is hearin' Lil's okay.

"Inside."

Her voice is so small I almost don't hear it. I lean forward, eyes wide. "Where?"

"At the stairs," Amelia whispers. "Behind with Jackie."

I spring to my feet, breathin', "Thank you," before sprintin' for the window. One of the firefighters grabs for my arm, but I dodge past him and stand at the very threshold of the window, the heat searin' my face. One hand raised to shield my face, I stare hard into the chaos, waitin', prayin', hopin'.

And then—there. A flash of blond hair in the golden-red flames. Blond hair and blue blouse.

I bolt in through the window before anyone can stop me. The firefighters let out a yell, but I'm already into the smoke. It chokes me up and makes my eyes water, but I don't have far to go. Lil's lyin' still on the ground not ten feet from the window. She ain't movin', and I stifle the panic. All I think is that I have to get her out.

I grab her under her arms and shake her, shoutin', "Lil! Come on, Lil, come on!"

She doesn't answer. Doggedly, I drag her backwards, toward the window, grittin' my teeth against the heat of the fire. Come on, I pray, eyes waterin' from the burnin' smoke. Let her be okay.

And then there're arms reachin' in and helpin' me. Two firefighters in full gear surge in toward me and grab Lil and me by the arms. They rush us out of the window into the fresh, smoke-free air beyond. I stagger out, coughin', as they lay Lil on the ground. More paramedics rush over, and I stare at her soot-streaked face with my heart in my throat, hopin' to God she's okay.

"No pulse," the first paramedic reports, and I have to lock my knees to stay standin'. No pulse. Oh God…

"Starting CPR," the medic says. He clenches his hands on Lil's chest and starts to pump, countin' under his breath. "One, two, three, four…"

I clench my fists to hide my tremblin'. A medic's tryin' to offer me an oxygen mask, but I push him away. No, I don't need a damn oxygen mask. I need to know that my partner's okay. I need to know…I need to know she ain't gone.

The medic leans down to blow breath into her, and I automatically flinch. Even completely innocent, even in the midst of CPR, someone else's lips on Lil's makes jealousy coil in my gut. I clench my teeth and watch in cold fear, prayin' for Lil to move, for her to just open those beautiful eyes.

"One, two, three, four…" the medic chants as he hammers down on her chest. "…eight, nine, ten, eleven…"

And then she takes a shuddering, breathy gasp, her eyes flyin' open. I let out an involuntary cry and reach for her, relief makin' my knees weak. The medic breaks out into a wide smile, his expression wearily satisfied, and offers her an oxygen mask. She sucks in another lungful of air, her chest heavin'. Her eyes find mine.

"Hey, Lil," I breathe, takin' in her eyes, her expression, her beautiful face. God, how close was I to losin' this?

She manages a weak, weak smile. The medics work quickly over her, callin' out to each other, but all I can see is her. Lilly sooty and dirty and exhausted but alive. Wonderfully, blessedly alive.

And suddenly I can't stop myself. I ain't sure I want to stop myself. Rippin' off her oxygen mask, I lean down and press my lips against hers.

Two weeks. Two weeks since I felt this, her lips on mine. I haven't forgotten a thing.

She's shocked this time, shocked but too weak to stop it. Not that she wants to stop it, I think. Her arms wrappin' 'round my neck and tanglin' in my hair sure ain't signs of resistance. I deepen the kiss, tastin' the soot on her lips, and find that taste of Lil underneath the grime. God, she tastes good.

"Sir!"

It's the damn medics. Reluctantly, I pull away, lettin' them lift her onto a gurney and wheel her to the ambulance. Once she's inside, the medics let me climb in to sit with her. After a moment, I reach out and clench her hand tightly. She doesn't move away.

She looks at me groggily and slowly lifts her oxygen mask. One of the medics protests, but her eyes flash with that Ice Queen glare, and he falters. She turns to me and whispers, so softly I have to lean in, "What the hell was that?"

She's talkin' about the kiss, I can tell. Is she mad? No, she ain't. I think. She looks mostly confused. Hell, I'm confused too. I mean, I just kissed my partner in front of a dozen witnesses for absolutely no reason at all, because that night between us never happened. It's probably the biggest screw-up I've made in years. But…I ain't regrettin' it.

"A kiss," I whisper back, in her ear so the paramedics won't hear. Then, grinnin' slightly as I remember that night, I add, "Chalk it up to the adrenaline, Lil."

She smiles too. And then she laughs, amusement glowin' in her eyes, and I see that she remembers that night just as well as I do. I see that it ain't just somethin' she shut away, never to remember again. It's real. It happened.

Her laugh turns into a gaspin' cough, and the medics shoot me a glare as they lean forward simultaneously to fix her oxygen mask back into place and to assess her injuries. But Lil holds my eyes, and I know she ain't mad about me for the kiss. She might have even enjoyed it. I ain't gonna get a black eye for it and I sure as hell ain't gonna regret it 'cause hey—we're chalkin' it up to the adrenaline.

Who knows what else I can get away with tonight?

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