A/N: Short chapter. Thank you to xSamiliciousx, xKimberly12x, Punksbaby, Punkedbyambrose, ChelleLew, ThatGirl54, Icec, MJ, JoMode, benova13, and Guest (x2) for the AWESOME reviews. Hope you enjoy! :)

Chapter Seven

Over the years, he'd grown accustomed to waking up alone. Even the times he fell asleep with a woman next to him, they were always gone by morning. He was used to being able to stretch, to take up the whole bed if he wanted. He rarely did, but knowing he could was important to him.

When he awoke for the second morning in a row with a warm body cuddled close, though, he sleepily wondered why he'd thought sleeping alone was such a big deal. It was nice, feeling softness in his arms instead of having them stretched across cold sheets. There was something to be said for having hair in his face and a breast in his palm.

The only thing he didn't like was that they were both still dressed. He vaguely recalled pulling away the night before to take off his shirt, but she still wore sweatpants and a t-shirt. And, he realized, feeling her feet against his, socks. She'd worn socks to bed. That made him smile.

As carefully as possible he began sliding his arm from beneath her, pausing each time she made the smallest sound. Just when it was almost free she wriggled. The hand on her breast was caught and, with a peaceful sigh, she hugged his arm to her chest and pushed her head more firmly into the pillow.

Arm free, he propped up on his elbow to watch her sleep. She'd roused him the day before, and he was grateful for the chance to see her while she was completely unaware. Cautiously he brushed the hair from her face, letting the strands slide through his fingers.

She looked peaceful. The wrinkle in her forehead, which he'd noticed many times since meeting her, was gone. It had made an appearance during and after her conversation with John. Her mouth was relaxed, slightly parted. He could just feel her breath on his fingers. Her anxiety the night before had obviously left her while she slept, and he wondered what her dreams had been.

He shifted his arm, watched his fingers twine with hers. He was aware of every one of the calluses on his hand when her softer skin was next to them. But she held on just the same, mouth closing and tilting into a small smile.

"I wish I could have found you first," he whispered. "I wish you were mine."

It scared him, his desire for her. For a long time he'd been sure that one good fuck would get her out of his system. But now… He knew her. She was more than the pretty woman with the sweet smile and nice tits. More than the chick with the stick up her ass. She was so much more.

He didn't do relationships. But she made him wish he did.

Elizabeth placed the last of her things into her suitcase with a heavy heart. Rundown as it was, she knew she would miss the motel. Her gaze moved to the window. The curtains were open and she could see traffic moving effortlessly on the street. And Dean, who'd gone out to move the car and get all the snow off before they left.

The snow was melting fast. Temperatures had risen the day before and stayed above freezing overnight. Already she had noticed the parking lot getting empty. The forecast call for seasonable temperatures over the next few days. This meant there was no reason for them to stay.

No matter how much she wanted to.

Looking to Dean's suitcase as she zipped her own, she felt the hint of a smile. He still hadn't packed; had mentioned he'd throw his stuff together at the last minute. Placing her bag and purse next to the door, she rubbed the back of her neck then turned to check every drawer and cranny.

As she did, her thoughts traveled to the previous day. They'd slept in and had watched TV for most of the morning, moving only when Laurie had called the room to offer some lunch. The afternoon had been spent trying to put her phone back together. She was almost glad that they'd been unable to, and it had been the first thing to go into the trash bag he'd gotten from the office. An early dinner, then more TV in bed…

She smiled, stooping to gather Dean's clothes. Truth be told, more time had been spent examining him than watching the movie. She had enjoyed it more than she would have thought. Again there had been no pressure. No expectations. If he was upset that she wasn't quite ready to do more, he hadn't let on. She liked to think that he was genuine when he said it didn't matter. And he certainly seemed keen on examining her.

And now it was all about to end.

Why did she feel like crying? It wasn't as though she'd never see him again. She'd see him all the time.

Not in the same way, she thought sadly, dragging his suitcase onto the bed so she could pack his things. She tried not to let her fingers linger over his t-shirts too long, tried not to think how soft and warm they were when on his body. But the thought came, bringing with it the memory of his smirk when she'd nicked his shirt to wear the night before.

He came in just as she was closing his suitcase. Rubbing his bare hands together, he kicked the door shut. "I forgot my damn gloves," he muttered, blowing on his red fingers.

His hat and coat, too, but she didn't point out that fact. Sliding the suitcase to the floor, she turned to look at him. "I think I got everything."

"You didn't have to pack my shit, Lizzie."

"I wanted to." It was such a small thing to do, really. But now she realized that they'd be on the road that much quicker. To the nearest airport. He'd be heading out to the house shows, and she home. Stepping into the bathroom, hoping her sadness didn't show, she double-checked to make sure she'd gotten all of her toiletries. Turning on the hot water in the sink, she waited until it was steaming before calling to him.

He reached around her, groaning when he pushed his hands under the stream of water. "Fuck," he muttered. He held them there, still rubbing, body fully pressed to hers.

Trapped but willing, she wriggled to keep the edge of the sink from digging too sharply into her hips. Her eyes met his in the mirror and she looked on as he dropped his head to kiss her neck. His name came out in a whisper.

Before she realized what was happening the water had been turned off and he was turning her towards him. Their lips met, a heated hand cupping her cheek. Her arms went around him, holding on while her lips parted for his tongue. The only thought running through her mind was that she didn't want it to end.

He held her against the sink, hands everywhere, and she knew in her heart that he wanted it to go on, too.

"Bed," she whispered, grasping at his shirt. "Take me to bed."

"Y'sure?" His lips were on her neck. His tongue flickering over that spot he'd discovered.

"Yes."

He hauled her even closer, boosting her up against him with one hand. Her legs parted, tucked around him, and she sought another kiss as he carried her to the bed. She was placed down with care, his teeth teasing her tongue. Heart racing, she fumbled between their bodies, tongue meeting his as he covered her. The zipper of his hoodie finally came free and, frantic now, she pushed it off him, trying her best to kick off her boots.

"Hey, hey," he murmured, raising his head. "Eager much?"

"Yes," she answered, boldly pulling on his shirt.

"Relax," he whispered, sitting up on his knees.

Greedily she watched as he removed his shirt. She pushed herself onto her elbows, fingers curling in the rumpled sheets. Was it her imagination or was he moving interminably slow? He was already leaning forward, his hands already braced on either side of her head, his lips against hers. Imagination, she decided with a smile.

Next time she'd ask him to do it slow.

His teeth scraped her neck and she gasped, arching.

Had she ever wanted something so badly?

"No," she whined, sagging against the mattress as the phone on the nightstand jangled loudly.

"Fuck," he growled. "I asked what's-her-face to call so we wouldn't leave too late."

She wanted to cry. The phone continued to ring, each jarring sound dumping ice water into her veins. Above her, Dean let the conflict show on his face. With a growl of annoyance he pushed away and snatched up the receiver.

Elizabeth worked to straighten her clothes, biting her lip to keep from pouting like a spoiled child. Her sweater was pushed up, the long-sleeved t-shirt beneath it untucked. Finding that her jeans were unbuttoned she struggled to recall when that had happened. She couldn't, though, and put everything in its proper place before sitting up, reaching to gather her boots from the floor.

"Lizzie."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not."

"Maybe it's a sign." She'd go with that. But she mentally kicked herself, thinking of the long hours that she could have used. The moments when she could have made a move. Asked for more.

"Yeah. Maybe." He picked up his discarded hoodie and shook it out.

There was a depressing conclusiveness to the sound of the hoodie's zipper. As though it signaled the end. It was followed by the putting on of his coat. The mumble that he would put their things in the car and start it up. She followed him out, not wanting to be alone in the room. Even if it was for just a couple minutes, she knew she'd cry.

And she was so sick of crying.

"This isn't going to be awkward, is it?"

Dean sighed, moving his gaze from the rental car receipt to look at her. In his opinion, it was already awkard. It had been since they'd arrived at the airport. It was second nature to touch her now, and several times since entering the terminal he'd been forced to pretend he was stretching or about to scratch his head. Usually it wouldn't bother him. But he knew that cameras were everywhere. So were fans. True, some wouldn't approach, but they always had their phones at the ready. They were no longer snowed in at a motel with no prying eyes. And the last thing he wanted was a photo of them spreading around online. He didn't give a damn personally, but she was worth more.

"It already is, isn't it?" Elizabeth frowned and looked down at her coffee.

"Yeah, it is." He folded the receipt and shoved it into his pocket. "I'm sorry."

"I…" Her words were overtaken by a cool voice announcing the next flight over the speakers. She waited, frown deepening, and met his eyes again. "That's me."

"Yeah." She'd checked in and passed the security checkoints. He could have said goodbye already and gone through the same rigamarol for his own flight later on. But he hadn't. One last cup of coffee, he'd suggested, loathe to see her go. And now she was leaving.

They stood at the same time. "I'll see you Monday, I guess—"

"I'll walk with you." He slipped her carryon from her shoulder, letting his hand remain for a bit longer than necessary.

The walk was over too soon. Dean was sure they'd taken a wrong turn – he even looked back at the sign to make sure. This was it? So soon? He looked around the near-empty waiting room. The last call was being announced. She took her carryon, rummaged in her purse, and when their eyes met he could see she didn't want to go.

He opened his mouth to give her his number, to request that she call to let him know she'd landed safely. Remembering that she'd already written down his number and promised to call or text once she got a new phone, he pressed his lips together.

"It's not goodbye," she said softly.

And yet it was. Sure, he'd see her in a couple days. Sure, they'd talk. Hell, she might even surprise him with a text or two. But it wouldn't be the same. It would never be the same.

"I better go. I'll call you." Her gaze swept the room and then she was stepping forward.

He felt something within him start to crumble when her lips met his. Catching her by the shoulders, he no longer cared about possible fans or cameras. He held her to him, doing his best to keep the kiss gentle. A soft hand rested briefly on his cheek and he sighed, forcing his hands to release her.

The warmth of her lips and hand stayed after she'd walked away.

It stuck around while he boarded his own flight an hour later.

It was there when he arrived at the arena for that night's house show.

It stayed into the night, as city lights gave way to nothingness on the long ride to the next city.

And though the warmth lingered, it wasn't as strong once he realized that his phone had remained dark and silent.