When Desmond got home, he found a plate of food sitting on the table, with a note.

Desmond,

I thought you might be hungry when you got back. Wake me up before you go to sleep. I want to see you.

-Lucy

He smiled and set the note aside. Behind it, she had left him a beautiful spread from the breakfast-for-dinner he had missed. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, and even a couple of waffles. The sight of it made him so desperate to see her, he momentarily considered ignoring it to go wake her up. But he realized that might be hurtful, and since he was actually pretty hungry, he ate it first. Immediately after it was done, he brushed his teeth and headed for the bedroom. Since Lucy wasn't asleep on his couch, he assumed she'd gone to sleep in his bed.

He was right.

He leaned against the doorway and took the sight of her in with a slight grin still in his expression. She was sleeping on her side, like she usually did, facing his side of the bed with her arm out and her legs curled together. His smile widened, and he shrugged out of all but his boxer-briefs before joining her there.

Just as he reached out to shake her awake, he noticed a piece of paper clutched in her hand that made him suspicious. Head cocked somewhat to the side and eyes narrowed, he tested the strength of her grip on it. Disappointingly, it was quite tight.

Deciding to just ask her what it was instead, he whispered, "Lucy," and shook her arm very softly.

She stirred a bit, but didn't wake up. His smile returned.

"Lucy," he tried again. "Lucy, wake up. I'm back."

This time, she stirred a bit more, stretched, and finally, opened her big, beautiful, blue eyes. They lit up a bit when she saw him.

"Desmond?"

"Yeees?"

Immediately, her arms flung up around his neck. "You're back."

"I am," he said, returning her embrace. "And thank you... for the beautiful breakfast."

"Did you like it?" she asked into his neck.

"I did. All my favorite things for breakfast on one plate..." he hesitated to say the next thing, but decided he had nothing to lose, going by this reception – so, he put his scarred lips by her ear and dropped his voice a little lower, "...all made for me by my favorite person."

Her grip tightened on him and she kissed his shoulder. A few moments of silence fell between them, but this time comfortably, instead of awkwardly. It was Desmond's favorite way to spend time with her, actually... Even moreso than sex. Or, at least, so far... They hadn't had a lot of sex yet.

"How was work tonight, Desmond?"

"Slow."

"As in, draggy or peaceful?"

"Both. I wanted to get home..."

She pulled back from his shoulder, looked up at him, and began stroking the side of his face with her index finger. "Really? And why's that?"

He leaned a little closer and dropped his voice a bit lower. "I think you know why."

Suddenly, it was just like it was the night she first showed up. A fire of some sort exploded between them. Lucy crashed her lips up against Desmond's, pushing him backward almost off the bed. He caught himself on the side table, but she pulled back to apologize. Desmond didn't want an apology for this – he wanted to enjoy it, and her to do the same. So he muffled her apology by kissing her back.

Her arms found their way back around his neck at the same time as his wrapped around her torso and pulled her up closer against him. She began to kiss her way down his neck and chest, headed downwards for a little breakfast of her own...

Desmond had forgotten how much better this felt when it was from a woman he loved – that it made all the difference in the world. The entire time, he gripped the blankets and moaned and encouraged her in any way he could think of. And she gripped his hand with one of hers, gripped his shaft with the other, and smiled up at him in the sweetest of ways he could ever remember seeing. Even if it was just an act – just something she was doing because she'd heard men liked it, or something – he appreciated it all the same, and stroked the side of her face as lovingly as he could ever remember doing to any woman, any time...

When it was over, the kiss they shared was somehow different from all the others, too. It lacked the usual fire or formality. It felt more like a romantic kiss.

The taste of it... of ALL of it... was still on Desmond's lips when he fell asleep with her head on his chest. He was a contented man, if ever there was one, and for the first time he could think of, he felt completely confident that she was happy with him, too...

He'd almost forgotten the piece of paper...