A/N: muse wouldn't stop pestering. (Don't own anything!)

Chapter Eight

He slid in and out of consciousness, picking up bits and pieces. Distantly, he heard an engine driving in, and heard the dog barking frantically; the tranquilizer he'd given it must've worn off… he woke again to the damned dog licking his face… hearing Nicky's voice muttering, catching a frightened, sharp tone, "Wake up, you stupid bastard," as hands frantically checked his pulse and tried to lift him. He tried to tell her that he knew for a fact that his parents had been married, rendering her comment invalid, but decided to pass out again instead.

When he woke once more, he was lying in bed with an IV attached. Glancing around at the room, he recognized the somewhat "off" look of the safe houses Treadstone kept. He closed his eyes again and concentrated. How had he gotten here? His wounds seemed to be patched.

Brisk heels approached the door, then Nicky appeared in the room, carrying a glass of water. She didn't look surprised to see him awake, but he saw the tense line of her mouth soften slightly as she handed him the glass and some painkiller.

He swallowed the pills, watching her carefully. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" In truth, she'd never looked so beautiful to him, but he didn't want to scare her by spouting poetry. She'd probably think he had brain damage.

Refusing to meet his gaze, she shrugged as she stepped back. "I was in the area." He frowned at the obvious lie, but didn't push her. Instead, he gazed at her, taking in the blood-stained blouse, the smudges of dirt and blood on her face and even in her hair. She was still pale, as well. What had she gone through to get him here?

"Is that all mine?" He nodded towards the blood on her clothes.

She looked down at them, as if seeing them for the first time. "Oh. Um, I guess. You, uh… well, there was blood everywhere."

He searched for something to lighten the mood. "Well, a shotgun does tend to do a lot of damage."

To his horror, her eyes started to fill with tears. She blinked furiously, and refused to look at him, embarrassed. Ah, hell. "Nicky. Look at me." He wished his voice could be softer, not so gravelly.

She shook her head, turned away and picked up her purse which had been resting on the nearby table. "I need to get back."

He nodded as he recognized the fine trembling in her hands as the aftereffects of an adrenaline rush. She must've been pretty frightened to leave her post unattended, without official permission, and come all the way out here. Frightened… for him. The knowledge that she cared, at least a little, came over him like a ray of sun, giving his soul a lightness he hadn't felt for years. Making a decision quickly, he lifted his free hand. "Come here." Thinking quickly, he added, "please."

She raised her brows, but bent towards him all the same.

"Closer," he said gruffly. She leaned further still, until her face was within inches of his. She'd dropped the mask, and was finally meeting his gaze, not disguising the fact that her breathing had quickened slightly.

He slowly hooked his hand at the base of her neck, and pulled her to meet his mouth. He took his time, kissing her thoroughly, wishing he could pull her on top of him and they'd pick up where they left off. She seemed to have the same idea, because she started to crawl onto the bed with him, but stopped herself when her keys clinked inside her purse.

He finally released her head, but couldn't resist kissed her quickly one last time. "Thank you, Nicky," he said quietly.

She looked at him again, a small smile touching her swollen lips. "You should thank the dog. I couldn't find you at first, but he wouldn't stop barking." She frowned suddenly. "You didn't kill him. Why?"

He gave a wry grin. "A hardened government black-ops weapon I may be, but I'm not cruel. Besides, he reminded me of a dog I had as a boy."

She touched him, then, lifting her hand to his cheek. Indulging himself for once, he turned his chin so that he could kiss her palm. She didn't disguise her surprise at his uncharacteristically affectionate action, staring at him, wide-eyed.

He gave a half-hearted grin, and thought of saying that the pain made him do strange things. "Nicky," he began, but stopped. There was so much to say, but he had no idea where to begin.

She sighed, and with regret in her voice, said, "I really do need to go." He tugged on her hand, grinning when she bent forward and kissed him again with no other provocation. "Soup is on the table, and there are more pills in the cabinet. You'll be fine, eventually; you lost a lot of blood. The doctor's downstairs; he'll be checking on you again in an hour or so."

He refused to let go of her hand. "Wait." She paused, standing at the edge of his bed. He nearly choked; she looked so heavenly. Even with smudges and covered in his blood, he'd never been more drawn to her. Swallowing his pride, he managed to force out, "Are you going to come back?"

She gave him a small smile, and squeezed his hand. With that, she left the room.