A/N: This is the final chapter and there will be an epilogue!

xx
I can understand it but it's so hard to fake,
when you're staying undercover no one sees your mistakes.
I've just gotta be tough, I've gotta be brave,
no more walking away or playing it safe.
I know I'll figure it out, I'm finding my way—
gonna make it out on my own, no I got to, I gotta be brave.
xx
Nice Girls | Repartee

The next morning, Monday, she called her primary care physician and asked for a referral to a psychiatrist, texted Tom, and did her physical therapy exercises. He texted back around his usual time, happy for her, and she told him that Tex had started in on her.

Tom: How so?

Rachel: Trying to convince me I'm actually too good for you instead of the other way around.

Tom: I should buy him a beer.

Rachel: Ha ha.

Tom: Not a joke.

Tom: Think he'd go for it?

Rachel: If I ask him to, yes.

Rachel: He won't necessarily be nice about it.

Tom: Worth a shot.

On Friday, Tex and Tom met at a bar after work and Rachel waited in the living room. She started out on the couch with a cup of tea, which lasted about three minutes before she was up and pacing the hall again. It almost felt nostalgic.

When she heard Tex's key in the lock, she froze in her tracks, twisting at the waist to watch the door with wide eyes. He stepped in first, seeing her immediately, and then waved Tom in and in Rachel's direction.

"She does this," Tex said.

"What exactly is she doing?"

"Pacing."

They watched her with nearly-matching smirks, and a giant grin broke across her face, giddy with relief.

"You two ganging up on me?"

Tom stepped forward then, his smile turning soft as he took her hand in his and said, "Never," before leaning in to kiss her.

She pressed up against him briefly, then ducked her head and stepped away, looking for Tex and feeling a blush heat up her cheeks. He'd stepped into the kitchen, apparently, so Rachel looked back up at Tom, her hand still in his, and said quietly, "How was that?"

"A work in progress," he said back, reaching his free hand up to brush her hair back from her face, the backs of his fingers smoothing over the skin of her cheek as her eyes drifted shut. "Not bad."

She smiled again, a rush of hope lifting her heart, opening her eyes to find him watching her closely.

"We're on the same side here," he said, and before she could stop herself she said confidently, "Mine," and he nodded. "Yours."

Tom went down to wait in the car and Rachel walked into the kitchen, leaning on the counter near where Tex was beginning to prepare dinner.

"So," she said, and he looked up, smiling when he met her eyes.

"So," he said back. "Baby steps."

"Yeah? Like one beer a week baby steps?"

He raised his eyebrows and she did the same, then he turned back to his task and said, "Not if it's going to set you off pacing again."

"Pacing is good for my calves," she said, pushing off the counter and leaning to press a kiss to his cheek. "I'll tell Tom you're in."

He grumbled quietly to himself as she walked away, picking up her overnight bag by the door and heading downstairs to meet Tom.

Back at his apartment, which they had to themselves, Rachel stepped ahead of him into the foyer and then turned and backed him up against the door, wrapping a fist in his shirt and pushing up to kiss him hard. He pressed one hand to the small of her back, the other slipping through her hair to curve around the back of her neck.

She stretched further, higher up on her toes, her hand tugging slightly on his shirt, and then he slid both of his hands down to her thighs, lifting and turning to press her back to the door, her legs wrapping around his waist, and she tipped her head back against the wood as he kissed down her neck, kissed the spot where her moan reverberated from deep in her throat.

Her hand was grasping now, fisting in his shirt and tugging it up, and he pressed one knee to the door, his hips pressing tighter into hers, holding her in place so he could free his arms and ditch the shirt, and all of that at once was a lot, Rachel's fingers curling against his chest, nails biting as her hips sought pressure and friction, groaning in frustration when it wasn't quite right.

She reached for his belt, then, and he gasped, "Rachel."

"Please," she said, almost whining. "Fuck me here."

"Babe," he said, mouth open and breathless against her collarbone, "I will fuck you anywhere you want, but not with your pants on and not without a condom. I can put you down here or I can put you on the bed. Your choice."

"Or," she said, bringing her chin back down and scraping her teeth over the knob of his shoulder, "you could get creative and figure out how to do all of that without putting me down."

He smiled against her skin, an answering nip to her collarbone, and said, "I'm strong, but I'm not an acrobat."

She sighed, kissing the spot she'd scraped and then kissing over and up to his mouth, reluctantly unwrapping her legs and sliding down to put her feet on the ground. "It's sexier in the movies."

He still had her pinned against the door, and he dropped his chin and gave her a look until a slow smirk crept across her mouth. "Get your pants off, and we'll see how sexy it gets," he said finally, and she slipped around him and off down the hall to the bedroom.

She went for the nightstand, first, grabbing a condom from the drawer, and then he came up behind her and slid his fingers past the waistband of her pants, tugging them down and letting her balance with a hand on his shoulder as he pulled them off one foot and then the other. Then she turned, and he picked her up again, stepping over to the wall and pressing her up against it, only waiting for her to be stable before wrapping his arms around her thighs from the other side and easing down onto his knees.

"Oh, Jesus," she breathed, her head tipping back against the wall as he draped her legs over his shoulders, his hands smoothing up from her thighs to her pelvis and back again, and he stopped there. When she looked down, he was staring up at her, waiting for her okay, and her hand grasped desperately at his shoulder as she said, "Please, God, yes," and then let her head fall back again as he moved forward to taste her.

His tongue was firm and soft, his shoulders steady under her even as she writhed against his mouth, pressing her back to the wall and her nails into the flesh of his shoulder. Despite her bravado and demands, her cries were mewling and desperate, her breaths gasping, and when she came he supported her full weight, staying on his knees and stroking his hands over her skin, over the trembling muscles of her thighs and stomach, until she straightened back up against the wall, breathing deep into her belly.

He stood up carefully, repositioning her legs to around his waist, and kept one hand bracing one of her thighs as he raised the other one to her face, smiling as she dropped her chin to face him. "Hi," he said, and she returned his smile.

"Hi," she said back.

"You good?"

Drawing in another long breath, she blinked very, very slowly. "I would say so." She trailed her hand from his shoulder, down over his chest and between her own legs to tug at the waistband of his pants. "How about you?"

He grunted, shifting on his feet, his fingers splaying the length of her neck and his thumb stroking over the corner of her jaw. He didn't say anything, and she laughed, tugging harder on his pants.

"Would you prefer to move to the bed?"

His hand tightened on her thigh and he leaned in, his nose brushing against her ear before he said into it, very tenderly, "You're the one who wanted to be fucked against a wall."

She whimpered, his words sending a jolt straight to her core, and her fingers curled more fully around his waistband. "Stop stalling, then," she whispered back, and he chuckled against her ear, releasing her thigh with caution and then reaching for his belt once he was sure she was sturdy.

In seconds, he'd dropped his pants and put on the condom—and Rachel wasn't even sure when he'd gotten ahold of it or how he'd hung onto it all this time—and she shifted against the wall, flexing her thighs lower on his hips.

He pressed one hand flat against the wall, the other back on her thigh, and his voice was tight when he said, "Okay?"

"Go on, then," she said softly, reaching down to guide him inside her, tilting her hips to the best angle, her breath catching in her chest again as she arched back against the wall and he pushed deep inside her.

Once he'd gone as far as he could, he slid his hands around behind her hips, gripping her sides and keeping her tailbone away from the wall as she pressed her shoulders to it. He pulled out and pushed back in, slow and easy, and Rachel squirmed slightly.

"If you're going to fuck me against a wall," she said, and had to pause a second to keep her laugh out of her voice, "please," pause, breath, "fuck me."

He leaned back just enough to see her face, one corner of his mouth ticked up in a smirk, and she widened her eyes at him, raising her eyebrows. "All right," he said gruffly. "The lady wants what she wants." He paused there a second, like he needed to reorient himself, and then slid out and back in with more force, building up a faster, harder rhythm until his fingers were digging into her hips to keep her from slamming into the wall, his thrusts driving into her and both of them panting, gasping.

Her orgasm hit her just as hard, her nails raking through his hair and down his neck, scraping over the tensed muscles and then digging in, holding on tight as her body quaked between him and the wall. He gasped a moment later, his body going rigid and his head falling forward, forehead pressed to the wall just beside her ear, his breaths harsh but satisfying as she brought her hand back up to the back of his head, stroking over his hair.

When he came back to himself he moaned, pulling out of her and wrapping his arms fully around her back, stepping over to the bed and laying her down before collapsing onto the sheets at her side. She rolled toward him, her hand smoothing over the muscles of his back, petting him as he lay on his belly with his cheek pressed to the bed, eyes closed.

After a moment, she noticed the raised red tracks from her nails and said, "Oh dear," tracing over them with the pads of her fingers. "I might not have been quite so nice."

His lips curled up even as his eyes stayed closed, and he said, "Nobody asked you to be nice."

"Interesting." She leaned up to press her lips to the scratches, then laid her cheek on his shoulder blade and draped her arm across his back.

"You might wind up with some hand-shaped bruises on your ass," he murmured, and she giggled as he worked his arm out from under her and stroked it over her back, "so we'll consider it a fair trade."

A moment later, he turned under her, cradling her against his chest, and said, "Hungry?"

She hummed, her cheek pressed to his skin. "Starved, actually. But…" She sighed. "Food is so far away."

"I can bring it to you," he said, his tone amused, and she set her jaw, shaking her head determinedly.

"I'll not have you waiting on me hand and foot, it's bad enough I let you cook for me."

He was silent for a moment, then said, "What the hell kind of boyfriends have you had?"

Pushing up from his chest, she tilted her head, eyeing him thoughtfully. She'd never dated under her father's roof, and then she spent an eternity in school, too focused on becoming the doctor and scientist she needed to be to commit time and emotional energy to building a relationship. She would go on casual dates sometimes, even two or three of them in a row, and she'd occasionally find someone sexually compatible and low-stress enough to spend nights with regularly.

According to Quincy, that was what Michael was, too. She wasn't sure about that, but she wasn't too sure the word 'boyfriend' would apply, either. She hadn't been in love, though she'd loved him dearly.

Breaking it down like that, she suddenly had a more generous understanding of her freak-out the other night. Had she really never had a proper boyfriend? Had she never been in love? Shouldn't that have been something she was aware of?

She was lost in her own head, shaking it slowly back and forth, when Tom squeezed her arm gently, getting her attention again.

"Rachel…" He trailed off and she thought he might be getting the wrong idea, plotting out worst case scenarios, so she smiled softly.

"I'm used to being independent, you know that. I'm working on it, okay?"

He stared at her a moment longer, trying to read her, and said evenly, "I'm working on giving you the world, so we'll have to meet in the middle somewhere."

Laying her head back down, she tapped her index finger on his chest, thinking about it. "What if I start cooking for you? Make it more fair."

"Honestly, I don't care about fairness. I'd rather cook for you and bring it to you in bed and wait on you hand on foot—that would make me happiest—but if fairness is your priority, then of course, if that would make you happiest."

She smiled a little, flattening her palm and smoothing it over his pec. "I guess…" she started, hesitant. "I guess I am still recovering…"

He swept his hand up her back from her waist and back down again and she could hear the smile in his voice when he said, "Mmhmm…" And then, more serious, "If I leave you here, will you be here when I get back, or should you come into the kitchen with me?"

Fair. She was bound, almost guaranteed to think too much if she stayed in bed alone. "I'll come with you," she said, sitting up, and waited for him to toss her another t-shirt. She wrapped her good arm around herself while he put on pants, and then he drew her up off the bed and wrapped his own arms around her, holding her close to his chest for a long moment before leading her into the kitchen.

Rachel sat down at the kitchen table while Tom moved to the stove, and she was just watching him move around the kitchen when he looked over his shoulder and said, somewhere between careful and casual, "How are you feeling?"

He kept doing what he was doing, giving her the space to answer, and she stared at him and breathed slow, deep into her belly and back out again. She had a choice here—she could default to a baby step, tell him that she was okay for now and end up stringing him along, nervous that she would change her mind. Or she could say out loud what she knew was true, what she couldn't say out loud the last time they were here, the fear she let take control.

"I love you," she said, and he looked back over his shoulder, smiling in surprise. "I'm not going anywhere."

He froze for a moment, facing the stove but looking at her, and then crossed the kitchen in slow strides, taking her hand and drawing her up out of her chair and then holding her hand and staring at her as she stared straight back into his eyes, sure.

She let him stare for a while, then raised her hand to his cheek and murmured, "If you can promise, so can I," and his face split in a massive grin, not even trying to kiss her as he wrapped his arms around her and dropped his head, turning his face into her hair.

"I love you," he said quietly, and she cradled the back of his head, smoothing her hand over his hair and then wrapping her arm tight around his neck, pressing her body to his. "Gonna feed you," he said, same tone, same volume, and she grinned, releasing him slowly and letting him move back to the stove. He kept glancing over at her and she just kept smiling back, her cheek propped on her palm.

When they went to bed, climbing in on either side and meeting in the middle, they spent another long moment just staring into each other's eyes. She could tell that he was still nervous, and she couldn't blame him, not for one second. All she knew was that she would be there if he woke up in the night, and she would be there in the morning. She wasn't going anywhere.

He finally wrapped his arms around her, tugging her close and pressing his face to her hair, and she stroked her hand lightly over his forearm, thinking that even if he held her too tight to sleep, she wouldn't move. She loved him, God, she loved him, and she was happy, even with a pit of fear burning in her stomach. Maybe that would fade; maybe she wouldn't always be afraid; but even if it didn't, she knew now that it was worth it.

Real love, she was slightly horrified to discover, was worth nearly any sacrifice. She didn't think her life would ever be the same.

xx
When all the lights are down,
it's only darkness, baby.
Like a beacon I'll be all lit up,
you can follow me in the dark.
You're not alone here, baby.
When the daylight isn't long enough,
in the night I'll be all lit up.
xx
All Lit Up | Repartee