DISCLAIMER: not mine, please don't sue.
Geiroidin, Anon, Nat, aprilf00l, SSLE, CrazyMayhem, and anon: once again, thanks a million, guys, for being so awesome and making me grin like an idiot. :)

~ BURGLAR ~

It's still raining heavily when they finally reach her apartment building. She goes ahead to lead the way and he follows without question or hesitation. He's gotten tired of going through the pros and cons over and over again. As they wait for the elevator to arrive, he shivers again. It was cold when they first met and her words turned into tiny clouds as she accepted his dinner invitation. He smiles to himself as he remembers and she catches him in the act.

"What is it?"

He turns to look at her. "What is what?"

"You were smiling."

He hesitates for a moment. "I must have forgotten myself."

She chuckles. He loves that sound. The elevator arrives and the doors slide open. They step inside and are joined by a few others, including an elegantly dressed elderly woman in her 70's. She steps between Eli and Natalie.

"Hello, my dear," she greets Natalie with a smile and a gentle pat on the arm.

"Hello, Mrs. Green." Natalie leans back slightly and Eli mirrors her movement. She mouths "she's stone-deaf" to him behind Mrs. Green's back.

He nods somewhat confused, then glances down at the old lady and finds her looking up at him with a mixture of keen interest and guarded amusement. Her face is kind but commanding, and her gaze unwavering - she's someone you don't want to cross. He forces a small smile and says hello. She looks away without a word, turns to Natalie and whispers something to her. He doesn't know what to do with that. He looks questioningly at Natalie but she just smiles – how very unhelpful. They were whispering about him, that's for sure, and the thought makes him feel uneasy. His gaze drifts upward and he watches as the red floor numbers slowly tick by.

The elevator reaches the fourth floor and Mrs. Green gets out. So does Natalie and he follows suit. When they arrive at her door, she slips in her key and steps inside. He moves to do the same but feels a warm hand on his chest, stopping him.

"Wait here," she tells him and disappears inside.

He waits and listens attentively. He hears sounds of hurried steps and some rummaging going on inside, then silence. He leans closer but gets distracted when a police officer appears at the end of the hallway and slowly makes his way toward him.

"Sir," the policeman greets him.

Eli nods. "Officer. Is everything all right?"

"Nothing to worry about, sir. We're just checking the building."

"Looking for anything in particular?"

"There was a break-in last night. We're making sure we haven't missed anything," he says then stops when he notices that the door in front of Eli is ajar. "Do you live here, sir?" he asks with narrowed eyes. His right hand rests on his belt, right next to his gun – a fact not lost on Eli.

"No."

"Then may I ask what you're doing?"

"He's waiting for me," Natalie says as she appears with a towel in her hand. Perfect timing.

The officer's gaze shifts between her and Eli, trained eyes looking for any suspicious sign. There is none. That is, none that would suggest something illegal is going on. Satisfied, he nods and walks off. Eli's stare remains on him for a few more seconds.

"He thought you were the burglar?" she asks, grinning.

His gaze drifts back at her. "I've been accused of worse things," he says with a sad smile. She knows. She's heard or read most of them, hoping but never quite believing they weren't true.

She takes his overcoat and briefcase and throws the towel on his head. "My roommate is kind of a neat freak, so please try not to drip all over the place."

He tries and follows her straight into the bathroom. She suddenly stops and turns around. They almost collide. Embarrassed smiles and apologies are instantly exchanged. She steps to the right but he accidentally moves in the same direction. She redirects herself but so does he and, again, they almost walk into each other. He feels increasingly idiotic. She changes tactics, puts her hands on his shoulders and gently moves him out of her way.

"You should take this off," she says, referring to his soaked jacket. He nods. His practiced fingers quickly undo its buttons and she helps peel it off of him.

"Your tie and shirt, too," she informs him on her way out and he stares back at her silently. She turns to look at him. "As in you need to take them off." He still doesn't react. "Don't worry. I won't peek." He cracks a smile and she leaves.

He towels his hair as dry as he can. He puts the towel on the sink and soon it is joined by his tie and shirt. Stripped down to the waist, he stares at his reflection in the mirror. The shivering has stopped and he can already feel the warmth seeping back into his fingers. He runs them through his rumpled hair, trying to tame it a little.

Unbeknown to him, he is being watched now. She said she wouldn't but couldn't resist it. She hadn't seen him in anything other than a suit before so the opportunity was quite tempting. Surprisingly enough, there isn't much difference. Even in this suit-less state his body is… elegant. That's the word that pops into her head and that's as far as she lets her mind wander. She tears her gaze away and knocks on the door frame.

"Here you go," she says when he appears at the door. She's offering a folded black t-shirt to him. He hesitates, eyeing it for a moment. It's not that he's ungrateful, nor is he trying to be purposefully difficult. He simply isn't all that comfortable wearing other people's clothes. She seems to sense that because she quickly adds, "I bought it for sleeping but haven't used it yet. It's been washed, I promise." It appears to ease his reluctance.

"Thank you," he says, trading the tie and shirt for it. She grabs them but he doesn't let go and starts pulling them – and her – a little closer. The nagging need to understand her and this situation has temporarily overridden his self-conscious awkwardness. She doesn't let go, either, letting him pull her closer. She can feel his body heat, hear his breathing, and smell his scent. She briefly studies the freckles on his right shoulder.

"You don't have to do this." His voice is quiet but his tone is firm. He needs to make sure this isn't some misguided act of charity born out of a sense of obligation that is neither owed nor expected. He needs her to look him in the eye so he can see she understands that. "Natalie…?"

"I know," she says, her eyes shifting from the freckles to find his. "But I want to." Why? The unspoken follow-up question hangs in the air between them. She cannot answer yet, but she wants him to stick around so they can try and figure it out together. They regard each other in silence – it's a conversation where no words are needed and an understanding is reached. He lets go, severing their link of cotton, silk, and coffee stain, and she walks out.