A/N: A special thank you to everyone for the reviews. Rock on, y'all. :)

Chapter Six

They had chips and candy for a snack. Elizabeth brought the drinks in out of the snow, grateful for the cold soda even though she shivered while drinking it. She supposed they could have considered what they ate an early lunch, but it was hard to get excited about such meager offerings. Seated Indian-style on the bed, she remained silent as Dean talked to one of Sean's assistants.

"No, no, no, there's no way we're getting out of here today. Or even tomorrow." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck while looking out the window. "Do I need to take a picture of what's outside my room and send it to you? Haven't you seen the news? It's practically up to my waist and it's still snowing. I can't even find the fucking car and you expect us to drive out right now?"

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"Yeah, she's here." Dean's forehead met the closed door with a dull thud. "Do you wanna talk to her?"

Levity gone, she jerked her head up and gaped. What was he doing? Shaking her head when he turned, she motioned to the phone so he would know she didn't want to talk.

"We ended up at the same hotel. Crazy, right?" He smiled, still speaking into the phone. "Not hardly. We got the last two rooms in the joint. They're adjoining. …No kidding? I think her phone died or something. I don't know. It's not like we're joined at the fucking hip, Carl. Yeah, hold on." He covered the phone with his hand. "John's looking for you."

"Fuck," she muttered.

"Knew you'd say that. Here, talk to Carl and verify my story." Before she could protest he pushed the phone into her hand and helped himself to a handful of chips.

"Hey, Carl," she greeted. Picturing the short, wiry man that darted around backstage, she wrinkled her nose.

"Why didn't you fly out? Paul is going to be pissed."

"Seeing as there's nothing we can do about what I did or didn't do, why don't we focus on what we can do?" she asked primly.

"And what's that?" he asked with a groan.

"We can either stay where we are and be safe, or we can try driving a little four-door Dodge and end up in the bottom of a ravine."

She could almost see him rubbing his forehead. "You're right. But Jesus, getting caught in a blizzard. Why didn't Ambrose—"

"I can't answer for him, but I'll be damned if I get out there before the roads are clear." It was the first time she'd been assertive to a superior. She was surprised at how good it made her feel to stand up for herself, even if just a little bit. "And considering he's one of the top draws right now, I really don't think Paul or Vince or anyone else would want him trying to drive in this."

Carl muttered under his breath. "Fine, fine. I'm sorry if I was a dick."

"Aww, Carl. You weren't a dick." She smiled. "You were a douche."

He actually laughed. "Thanks. Ambrose said your phone died?"

"Hit the sidewalk when I got here." That was the story she'd decided on.

"You might want to call your husband."

She didn't necessarily want to. But she knew she had to. "I will."

"What's the name of the place you're at? If Paul or somebody needs to call you—"

"Just tell him he can get me through Dean's phone. He has the number." Not waiting for him to question her further, she ended the call and tossed the phone aside.

"So." Dean examined a chip before popping it into his mouth. "You gonna call him?"

"Yes." She crumpled the empty bag in front of her. "As soon as I remember his number."

Dean eyed the depleting amount of junk food with a sigh. "We need food. Real food."

The bed squeaked and groaned as Elizabeth moved to face him. Working a comb through her damp hair, she eyed him warily. "I really don't think Dominos will deliver."

"Be fucking awesome if they did." He pulled his gaze from her bare legs and picked up his cigarettes. "Want one?"

"May as well. If I'm going to dip into the depths of depravity I may as well plunge in all the way." She winced, fingers moving through her hair to loosen a snarl. "Do you have any ideas?"

"About your plunge into depravity or food?"

"Food," she answered with a laugh. "Is there a restaurant in this place?"

He had no clue. When he'd been in the office to check in, his focus had only been on getting a room so she would relax. "Let me call and find out." It meant having to get up, but he rolled off the bed and moved to the table. Squinting at the laminated note pinned to the wall, he picked up the phone and dialed the office.

It wasn't the same woman he'd dealt with while checking in. This one was relatively nice, and said she would to open up the restaurant. There wouldn't be anything but whatever could be heated up. She was sure there was plenty of food. Getting through the snow at the door was his problem, though.

Hanging up, he rubbed his forehead. "Y'know. Even though this place is a complete dump, it almost feels like home. Get dressed."

"They're opening it? Just for us?"

"We get first dibs, then she'll call the other rooms." He rolled his neck from side to side, crossing the room to flip through his folded clothes.

"And how are we going to get out?" she asked. She was bent over to pull things from her suitcase. He suggested she try tunneling through and got one of her warm laughs. "Wear something that dries out quick. No need to sit in wet clothes while we eat."

"Expecting me to take a spill?" he challenged, rubbing his stomach.

"Unless you've got snowshoes in your suitcase…yes, I do."

"If I fall, I'm bringing you down with me."

Elizabeth straightened, a curious expression on her face. He wasn't sure if it was a smile or not. Tilting her head, she looked at him for a long moment. He had a feeling he'd conveyed more than he'd meant to. Especially when she continued to look at him as she pulled on a sweater. He didn't like the sudden sensation of vulnerability and remained still, watching her.

Was she starting to get a clue? Had he dropped enough hints? Should he drop more? Did he even want to? Would it take him laying it all out in plain English to get her to understand?

She crossed over to him, leaned onto the tips of her toes, and lightly brushed her lips over his. He sensed she was going to pull away and dropped his clothes, allowing one hand to gently catch her waist. Her lips remained against his, her hands coming to rest on his chest. Letting her have full control, he closed his eyes when she leaned into him.

"Just… Try to catch me when I fall," she whispered before pressing her lips more firmly to his.

He wanted to promise that he would. But he wanted her kiss more. No, he corrected himself, lifting his hand to cup her cheek, he needed her kiss. It was a balm; it was a banked furnace that would protect him from the cold outside. And he didn't want to scare her away by saying too much.

So he stayed as he was, thumb memorizing her cheek, palm resting on the curve of her waist. Her kiss was a caress and he sighed, abled to hear his own heartbeat. Her tongue made a quick appearance, causing him to grip her waist just a big tighter, then it disappeared. She gave a tiny sigh and dropped her head to his chest.

"Lizzie," he murmured, draping his arm around her. Cupping the back of her head, he could sense her anxiety returning. With a sigh he pressed a kiss into her hair. "Much as I'd love to stand right here and kiss you…"

"I know." Her fingers pressed into his bare skin then began to slide away. "You're starved." She turned her head, lips caressing his chest. "Get dressed."

The small restaurant was on the other side of the office. It took Dean a while before he managed to tamp down some of the snow so they could climb out. Then, hands secure on her arms, he helped her out, holding her steady as she immediately began to sink.

The snow was highest against the door and, up to her waist just two feet away, Elizabeth seriously considered turning back and asking him to bring her something. But she realized how spoiled she would sound. Shivering despite her layers, she tried to move forward.

She may have to turn back after all.

"Hold on," Dean said, hands funneling through the snow just in front of her. Taking hold of her wrists, he helped her through the drift. When they'd reached the parking lot, where the snow was just to her knees, he still held onto her.

"Oh," she breathed, looking around in awe.

A thick blanket of white had covered everything in sight. Parked cars were now oddly shaped mounds. Trees drooped from the weight of snow at the far end of the lot. The street was covered as well, but she could see evidence of vehicles having dared to traverse it.

The snow had only just stopped falling. As she looked around, she saw a few flakes sail from the sky. Each inhalation of the winter air caused her lungs to ache. A light wind blew, causing the laden branches of the trees to sway.

What struck her most was the quiet. She was so used to chaos, confusion, always moving, always thinking of what was next. Standing in snow up to her knees, with Dean holding her hand, though, she felt at peace. Calm. Almost serene.

"It's so beautiful," she whispered. She wanted to speak louder but hated the thought of breaking the peacefulness. A click broke the silence and she whirled to look at Dean, surprised to see he had his phone out. The sound came again and she watched his dimple appear as he grinned.

"You look…" He shrugged, pushing the phone into his pocket. Giving her hand a squeeze, he tilted his head in the direction of the restaurant. "Let's go."

Their trek was slow. Neither of them fell, though she was certain she would several times. Each time, he caught her. Just over three quarters of the way she moved closer to him, enjoying the comfort and security of his arm around her waist as they trudged through the snow.

The restaurant – it was really more of a diner – was warm. A bell above the door jangled to announce their arrival. Still holding onto Dean's arm, she stamped the snow from her boots, chilled to the bone, her cheeks raw from the cold.

She could smell coffee. At this point, she didn't care that it wasn't her preferred blend. She didn't care that her fingers were numb. Or that clumps of snow had found their way inside her boots. She wasn't bothered by the cold or the inconveniences. She felt almost giddy.

She felt happy.

Happy. She knew the feeling, had experienced it quite a bit in her life. In recent years, though, it had always come with a shadow of something else. Worry. Fear. Doubt.

Looking into Dean's eyes, she felt none of that. Just…happy.

A woman came from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishtowel. "It stopped snowing, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Dean answered, tossing his coat over the back of a chair.

"Good. I've got some beef stew from yesterday's lunch heating up. I went ahead and put some biscuits in the oven. There's coffee, and I've got the stuff to make hot chocolate or tea if you want that. I'm going to start heating up some other stuff."

"Thanks a lot for doing this," Elizabeth said, shrugging out of her coat and approaching the counter.

"I can't let the guests starve. The name's Laurie, by the way."

"Elizabeth. And this is Dean."

"If you can't find anything, just holler. And you're not supposed to smoke in here, but I don't care if you do." She tossed the dishtowel over her shoulder and ducked behind the counter. Seconds later she came up with an old ashtray. "A few of the old-timers still like to have one with their coffee."

"Thanks, Laurie," Dean said, pulling the ashtray close as he took a seat at the counter.

"Help yourself to your drinks." She went back into the kitchen.

"I'll get your coffee," Elizabeth told Dean. Tucking the ends of her scarf in, she moved behind the counter. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she looked for spoons and napkins, aware of Dean watching her every move. When she placed a steaming cup in front of him, his fingers slipped over hers before she could pull away. The spoon clattered against the counter and he smiled.

"You didn't wash your hands, Miss," he teased, reaching for the sugar.

"Are you going to complain to my manager?"

"Not if you keep smiling at me like that." He lightly stroked her hand before letting her pull away. "And you forgot the cream."

"Sorry, sir. It's my first day."

The banter continued while she poured coffee for herself. Enjoying the lightness of the moment, she took the seat next to him.

He shook his head, holding his cup to his lips. "Now you're sitting down on the job. You really do suck at being a waitress."

"My feet hurt?" she offered, holding her cup in both hands. "Wait, no. I'm on a break."

"Do you get another?"

"As soon as the lunch rush is over." It was hard to drink while smiling – or maybe she just wasn't used to it – but she managed.

His hand dropped to her thigh. "How's about coming back to my room with me?"

"Are you going to show me your stamp collection?"

"Stamp—" His brow wrinkled and he began to laugh. "Stamps? Really?"

"It was the first thing that popped in my head." She shrugged, adding a little more sugar to her coffee. "What do you collect?"

"Nothing really. After I started going on the road with Seth and Roman I had a nice collection of hotel keys. Then I decided that was stupid and tossed them. I thought about shot glasses from different cities but…" He shrugged, hand squeezing her thigh. "Nah, nothing. Do you?"

"You know those cheesy tourist things in airports and hotels?"

"Those stupid little teddy bears and shit?"

"I don't get the teddy bears. I get the plastic snow globes. I used to collect the state spoons." She grinned when he shook his head in disbelief. "I got them all, so I went for something fun."

"Do you have the wood cutout of the country to hang the spoons on?"

She blushed, thinking of what John called her eyesore. "It's hanging up in the den."

"And I bet you put when and where you bought your cheap plastic snow globes on the bottom," he continued, his smirk turning to a grin when she groaned. "On a little shelf?"

"In my office," she muttered. How did he know her so well? "I know it's stupid but… I like little reminders of where I've been."

He nodded. "I get it. Really."

"So no stamp collection?" she asked sadly.

"No stamp collection. But you're still welcome to come back to my room." He set down his cup and leaned close.

She waited for his kiss. She knew it was coming from the way he glanced at her lips. Anticipating, she held her breath, unknowingly leaning in.

Dean's head dropped with a sigh when Laurie marched out of the kitchen carrying a tray. Elizabeth sighed with regret and, starting to sit back, froze when he pushed his lips to hers. She heard music as his mouth teased hers, realizing only when he broke the kiss that it was Laurie humming.

The woman smiled as she set down bowls of stew and a plate of biscuits. "You two sure are a cute couple."

Cheeks burning, Elizabeth helped herself to several napkins. Next to her, Dean chuckled.

"Yeah," he said, giving her thigh one more squeeze before letting go. "We are."

His lips were on her throat when his phone began to ring. Groaning, he kept his mouth next to her skin and leaned, hand groping on the nightstand. On his shoulders, her hands squeezed.

"Ignore it," she requested.

He dropped his hand, settled over her, smiling when her hand moved down his arm. Where their drawn-out kissing session was headed he had no idea, but he was determined to enjoy every moment. As he had since it had started. Vaguely aware of his phone beeping with a missed call, he turned all his attention to her.

And the way she kept holding onto him.

The way her foot rubbed against his leg.

The way she sighed and shivered whenever he nuzzled that spot right behind her ear.

His phone started ringing again and he fully ignored it, bringing his hand to her waist. Her shirt was already pushed up, and he held on, pulling her with him as he rolled onto his back.

Another beep. Her thighs slid against his, her hands slipped under his shirt. Lips brushing his, she gave his shirt a tug. He kept his hand at her waist, sitting up to remove the shirt, and took the opportunity to steal another kiss.

He decided he could spend the entire night kissing her.

Another beep, this one signaling a voicemail. She broke the kiss, and he felt her hands brush over his before her shirt fell away. He caught a glimpse of black lace then her lips were over his again.

He'd just unfastened her bra when the phone started up yet again. Groaning, he reluctantly pulled his hand from her, blindly reaching. Her head dropped to his shoulder, fingers drawing circles on his chest, and he kept his arm around her.

"I'll get rid of whoever it is," he promised, distracted by the goose bumps rising on her skin. He nudged the strap off one shoulder, lips trailing behind it until the bra fell to his abdomen.

"You could just turn it off," she murmured.

But he'd already turned his head. Holding the phone at an angle, he squinted. "I don't even recognize the number. 857—"

"That's Boston." He felt her tense, and all his hopes for their evening fell. Giving her the phone, he scooted back so he could lean against the headboard. She moved with him, frowning at the device. "It's John."

He'd known it was. A sinking feeling had settled in his gut when she'd recognized the area code. Moving to rub her thigh, he hesitated and placed his hand on her knee as she answered the call.

"Hello?" Her voice was filled with anxiety. Immediately she pulled the phone from her ear.

"Where the hell are you?!"

Fucking hell. Dean threw his arm over his face to muffle his groan.

"I got caught in the storm," she explained, pressing the phone to her ear and keeping it there. "…What? What difference does that make?"

Pulling his arm away, Dean frowned, missing her before all of her weight had slid off of him. She knelt next to him, shoulders tense, and he sighed. Reaching around her for his cigarettes, he could hear Cena's angry voice. He couldn't make out the words but it didn't matter. Lighting two, he held them in his mouth, eyeing her carefully while she spoke. When she paused he handed one over, letting his hand trail the length of her arm.

"I called you at least six times, John," she said, lifting the cigarette to her lips. It wasn't until she'd exhaled the smoke that she looked down at her hand in confusion. "They went directly to voicemail."

That angry voice again. Dean shook his head, wondering if she would bring up the phone that had broken her heart.

"Oh. You were asleep." Her voice was flat and he saw the hurt in her eyes. She turned her back to him, the sinking feeling burrowing deeper when her shoulders rounded forward with defeat. "I see."

Impulsively he sat up, lips connecting with her bare shoulder. He felt her sudden intake of breath and, slipping his arm around her, moved his kisses to her neck. She rewarded the gesture with the tiniest of sighs. Encouraged, he plucked the cigarette from her fingers and dropped it into the ashtray, his own following shortly. He kept his lips on her neck, fingers brushing her hair out of his way.

He knew she wouldn't bring up Melissa when she dropped her head forward. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't… Yes. I insisted on finding a place to stay, John." She paused, the hand not on the phone resting on the arm at her waist. As her silence continued, she drummed her fingers, body still taut with anxiety.

Dean breathed in her scent. Her fingernails dug into his forearm and he tightened his grip on her waist. Flicking his tongue over her earlobe, he then dragged his teeth over it, smirking when she squirmed.

"Right," she said through clenched teeth. "I'm staying in a hotel with Ambrose. It was either that or sleep in the car. But you know what? He's been a perfect gentleman."

Well, not perfect, he thought, pressing his lips to her neck again.

John's voice, angry and muffled. "Please don't be angry," she whispered. "I did what I thought was best. John… Please—"

She was crying. What had he said? All thoughts of distraction fled. Straightening, he let his lips pass over her cheek before clearing his throat. "You alright?" he asked, making damned sure he spoke loudly enough for John to hear him.

"Of course he's in the room. You called me on his phone—" She cut off with a sniffle. Looking back at him, shook her head then looked away. "I'm fine."

"Want me to talk to him?" he offered. "To let him know you're safe?"

She didn't protest when he reached for the phone. As soon as it was out of her grasp she snatched up her shirt and yanked it over her head.

Dean wet his lips. Making sure to keep his voice calm, he spoke a greeting into the phone. Her fingers tapped his arm and he loosened his grip, eyes never leaving her while she slid off the bed. Arms folded across her chest, she crossed to the window.

"What's going on?" John Cena asked. Dean's dislike grew immeasurably. The guy sounded too cheerful. Too cocky.

"Oh, just snowed in. Look, she's okay." Did John know they'd driven together? He wasn't sure so he kept quiet about the nerve-wracking drive during the storm. "It's really bad out there. But we've got warm rooms and food."

"Yeah. Thanks for keeping an eye on her. I didn't mean to snap at her but I'm just worried."

Sure. Showing concern always ended with a woman crying. "Right."

"You know how women are. They get an idea in their heads and have to follow it through. I knew I should have put my foot down about her driving. She could have ended up in a damn tree."

It was on the tip of his tongue to announce that she very nearly had, but he tamped it down and swung his feet to the floor. "Yeah," he muttered. "You're telling me."

"What happened to her phone?"

Rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers, Dean struggled to recall what she'd told Carl. "I don't even know. I think it took a nosedive outside."

John laughed. "She's always been clumsy."

Dean pressed his lips together and remained silent.

"Is it alright if I call you to check on her in the morning?" His tone suggested he would anyway, and Dean fisted his hand in the sheet.

"Sure." He promised himself he would turn his fucking phone off and hide it in his suitcase.

"I'll text so you can get the phone to her. She's in the next room?"

"Yeah." He faked a loud yawn.

"I won't keep you any longer. Thanks again. I'll call in the morning."

"Did you want to talk to her again?" Please say no, please say no.

"Nah. Tell her I'll talk to her first thing."

Dean lowered the phone, one brow lifting as the length of the call flashed on the screen. Sorely tempted to send it flying across the room, he instead turned off the ringer and threw it into his suitcase.

"I'm stupid," she whispered once his arm slid around her shoulders.

"No you're not."

"I should have asked him to arrange a flight. Or gotten a room near the airport and waited out the storm there."

"I'm glad you didn't."

"So am I."

"Come back to bed," he murmured when she turned and pressed her forehead to his chest. Stroking her hair, he sighed, hating how the sound of her crying created an ache in his chest.

"I'm not in the mood to—"

"Just come lay down."

He guided her to the bed and helped her into it. As she settled in he moved the remote and his shirt to the floor, straightening out the covers. After making sure his cigarette was out in the ashtray, he joined her, hoping she wouldn't push him away.

Thanking Cena a tiny bit when she snuggled close, he reached to turn out the lamp.

"I'm not tired," she murmured in the darkness.

"TV?" he suggested, thumb finding her cheek to brush away her tears.

"No."

"Book?"

"No."

"Me?"

The beat of silence stretched into forever. Then her lips tentatively pressed to his chin. "Yes."