I have butterflies in my stomach as I stand behind him while he unlocks his door. He switches on the lights and I stand uncertainly in the middle of the room, looking around his neat, precise apartment. He hangs up his jacket and asks, "Do you want some tea?"

That actually sounds good. "Sure." I follow him to the kitchen where he puts the teakettle on to boil. Then he leans against the counter, frowning at the floor, and I intently study the takeout menus on his refrigerator without seeing a thing.

Finally the kettle whistles and he sits down at the table, sliding one mug across to my side. I sit down too, although I don't want to. I want to stay on my feet so I can pace around while I pour out my frustration and even yell if I have to.

Get a grip. He's trying to do the right thing—I suppose—and the least I can do is hear him out. I sigh, watching the steam rise from my cup. "I'm sorry, Mac. I shouldn't have told you like that. I just…"

"You can't leave," he interrupts.

That strikes me the wrong way. I know it's silly, but I feel my temper flaring up. "Yes, I can. You can't tell me what to do," I spit out before I can stop myself.

"Hey," he says. I glance up at him and back down, feeling a little foolish for that outburst. "That's not what I meant. I meant…I couldn't ever let you go knowing you left because of me. I'd have to go first."

"Well, you can't leave," I say, stating the obvious.

"I could," he says slowly. "You could have my job."

"I don't want your job, Mac."

"You'd be good at it. You're better with people."

Even in the middle of this conversation, that makes me feel warm all over. Focus, I order myself. "Are you really thinking about leaving?"

"No. I don't think either one of us should."

I shake my head, my eyes fixed on my tea. "We can't go on like this forever." My voice is barely above a whisper. "It hurts too much."

"We don't have to." I lift my head slowly as he continues. "I think...if you'll give me another chance…I think we could do it."

I refuse to believe my ears. "What?"

"We've been miserable, Stella. For weeks. But we've done our jobs. Solved our cases. I don't think it's affected our work. Do you?"

"Well…not our actual work, no. But we haven't been much fun to be around."

He smiles a little. "That's why I was thinking, if we've been able to do our jobs through all this…how much better it would be if we were happy."

I'm afraid this is a dream. But my mug is warm in my hands, and when I squeeze my hands around it, I don't wake up.

"So…can we try again?" he asks shyly.

My heart is beating too fast as I try to collect my thoughts. I had had a whole list of things I wanted to say to him, that of course only came to me after that night at the restaurant, and now I can't remember any of it. But it really doesn't matter, because there's only one thing I need to say, and I manage to get it out. "Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

His face relaxes almost imperceptibly. He looks down. "I was afraid—that people could say things…because you were in a relationship with the boss…but I was thinking about what you said. About how we're already like a married couple."

"An old married couple," I correct him.

He grins. "Yeah. And I just kept thinking…what if we were?"

"Were what?"

"A married couple. But I didn't know if you even wanted to be married—at all—you've never said anything about it…"

"That's because you never asked me."

"Really?"

"Really." I set down my mug, look straight into his beautiful eyes, and say clearly, "I would marry you in a heartbeat, Mac."

This time it isn't painful to meet his gaze. After a moment he stands to his feet, but I just sit there staring up at him because I can't even think straight. I feel like I've had the wind knocked out of me. He holds out his hand to me, and I rise a little unsteadily and slide mine into his.

We just stand there, inches apart. His expression mirrors mine: eyes wide, lips parted slightly. After all these years of dancing around each other, I think neither one of us knows what to do next.

He slowly lifts his other hand and sets it along my face, and I close my eyes and lean into his palm, hungry for his touch, reveling in the warm, gentle contact. My stomach flutters as his lips come down across my other cheek, tracing my cheekbone, feather-light. "You are so beautiful, Stella," he murmurs as his lips slide up my temple. "Beautiful inside and out…you have an inner light that shines through no matter where you are." Now he moves across my eyebrow as he whispers, "That's what made me fall in love with you."

Tears come to my eyes and I squeeze them shut as he kisses my forehead, and between my brows, and down the side of my nose. And then he brushes his lips against mine.

That's the end of my patience.

I pull my fingers from his grasp and catch his face between my hands. And then I'm kissing him, kissing him like I've always dreamed of doing, and he's kissing me back, hard, frantic, almost desperate, until I give up trying to keep up with him and just let his kisses wash over me. The room is spinning and I cling to him, the only thing around me that's solid. He pulls me into one long kiss that leaves me shaking and breathless, and still when he breaks it off I pull him back immediately, because I've been waiting for years and I'm not about to let him go.

His hand is in my hair and he tips my head back, way back, and without warning his lips are against the base of my neck. I give a little cry, I can't help it, and my breath comes in little sobbing gasps as he trails slow, hot kisses up my throat and over my chin, and then back to my mouth and he takes it again while my fists clench in his hair...

…And our phones go off at the same time.

I lean against him, breathing hard. We check our text messages over each other's shoulders and then I turn my face against his neck in frustration. He strokes my back gently with his fingertips. My heart is still pounding.

"You know it's always going to be this way," he says, his voice raspy.

"We could retire," I suggest.

He laughs against my hair. "I don't think we can tonight."

I permit myself just a few seconds more of his embrace before I reluctantly pull away. "I'll just be a second." He's grinning at me. "What?"

"You're glowing."

I feel my smile spread broadly over my face. "I'm happy."

He grins from ear to ear. I go into his bathroom to repair my hair and makeup, and notice that he's right. I grin at myself in the mirror. I look positively radiant—just like I feel.

He's waiting for me when I come out. He takes my hand as we go out and clasps it in his all the way down to his car. He has to let go to drive off, but I turn to him when we stop at a light. Judging from the way he smiles and squeezes my hand again, he's not too apprehensive about working the scene together.

Flack meets us as we drive up. If he's surprised that we arrive together, he doesn't show it as he leads the way, briefing us on the scene. It surprises even me how easily we slip into work mode, almost as if nothing has happened, but after all, we do have years and years of experience at that.

It's the wee hours of the morning when we finish up, and Mac sends everyone home to get some rest before we tackle processing the evidence. I see Lindsay off and then go to find him in his office, intent on taking him somewhere to feed him. I know he's starving.

He glances carefully up and down the deserted hall and pulls me to him, and it seems perfectly natural and right to be in his arms at the end of another exhausting shift. A thought strikes me and I nuzzle his neck happily. "I guess it's a fair trade."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…it's always going to be like this, too."

He gathers me closer in his big bear hug. "We can't do this at work, you know."

I laugh. "I know."

"So…what do you think?"

"I think we can do it."

"You never thought we couldn't."

"No, but…I haven't changed my mind, anyway." His cheek is against mine and I feel him grin. I pull back so I can see him. "Mac, listen. I know what you were thinking. That's why I decided that if it came down to it, if it didn't work out for us to work together, I could always find another job. Because as much as I love this job…I love you more."

His eyes widen at that. He leans in and kisses me again, softly. This time it's sweet and slow and gentle, and his lips linger against mine even after it ends. Finally he speaks again.

"I'm sorry I don't have a ring for you."

It takes me a moment to even realize what he means, and when I do I'm surprised because that hadn't even crossed my mind. "We can shop for one together," I reassure him. Trying on rings with Mac…I never even dared to dream about that.

"So, tell me the truth. Was that the worst proposal ever?"

I snicker. "Surely, somewhere, someone's done it worse."

"And been accepted?"

I squeeze him, laughing. "I don't know about that. But I'll tell you one thing."

"What?"

I set my lips just below his ear. He catches his breath and his arms tighten as I murmur, "It's the best one I've ever gotten."