The car ride home was silent–an unusual feat for Lucien. The adrenaline was still flooding through her system and it was escaping in bursts: nervously tapping her foot, drumming her fingers, flicking her eyes to Lucien over and over.

But he stayed focused on the road ahead and she saw the whites of his knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel. She bit her lip, "Lucien, say something."

Silence.

When they pulled into the drive, Lucien immediately took her hand, leading her inside. The second they were inside and the door was shut behind them, hiding them away from the outside world, he was on her.

Lucien pressed her up against the door, hands frantically taking inventory of her body. He bracketed her body between his arms and caged her between the door and his body, not allowing escape. Flattened hands wandered over her middle and up her sides and she heard him mutter over and over again, "You're okay, you're okay."

Jean threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged gently, forcing his head up to meet her eyes. "Lucien?"

His eyes were wild, darkened with fear. He pressed himself against her body, hands cradling her face. "Don't ever do that again, Jean. I can't, I can't," his voice broke and he dropped his head to her shoulder, shuddering. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him close.

"I'm alright, Lucien. Let it out, let it out." She rubbed circles over his back as he shook against her, struggling to compose himself.

Jean hadn't thought of the consequences of her actions–she had simply seen Lucien in danger, herself in danger, and the anger had bubbled up insider her. That man had come after her and her family and she wouldn't stand by while Lucien threw himself into danger again.

Lucien's shaking had subsided and he turned his head to the side, planting small kisses to her neck, his tongue flicking out and licking at the salty skin, feeling her pulse thrumming.

Jean sighed and tilted her neck to the side, allowing him access. If this is what he needed to reassure himself that she was alive and here, she would give it.

Lifting his head, he nuzzled his nose against hers, taking his time and simply reveling in the closeness they could share. The tension of the last week seemed to melt away, falling behind them both, as they realized how close they had come to losing the other.

Jean took her time in sliding her hands over his chest, feeling his own heartbeat–proof he was alive and well, beneath her hands. Finally–finally–Lucien leaned forward and covered her lips with his. Both sighed at the contact. There was no heat in the kiss, just a simple reassurance of their connection.

Proof, that they were alive and well. Jean nipped at his bottom lip and he pulled away, lifting their joined hands to his lips and rubbing his thumb over her engagement ring.

"Jean, I have every intention of spending many, many, long years by your side. No more jumping in front of a murderer with a gun, alright?"

She thought of telling him off–of making a point that this was how she felt when he threw himself into danger regularly, facing off with murderers and suspects alike without backup or any regard for his safety.

But his face was so earnest and she could still see the shadow of fear and doubt in his eyes and she smiled softly at him.

"I'll try to work it into the vows."