Two weekends later, Desmond was more than a little certain he was about to go absolutely insane. As he sat behind the desk at work, typing away on the computers – doing a little extra work for a (very little) extra pay – whilst two of the three or four owners of the place stood behind him, chattering on about their drive. One of them was actually from Canada, and still, he came down quite frequently to help with things. He was the nice one, but the other only lived about an hour or two away, and even though he could be quite helpful from a business standpoint when he wasn't throwing a fit, more often than not, his presence at the place had a bad effect on the employees. And Desmond could understand why, just from hearing the stories about him. He must've realized how many of his workers hated him, though, because whenever he was around, he always tried to put on the friendliest, bubbliest personality... that just didn't work.

Just as Desmond finally gave in, and slumped unprofessionally against the desk, he heard: "Well, thank you, my friend!"

"See you later. If you need anything else, give me a call."

The first of the two passed Desmond by with relatively little interest. He and Desmond exchanged waves. For Desmond, it was a little more genuine than it might have been if he had actually been expected to look after this man over the night.

The second, nicer one seemed to notice something else was on Desmond's plate. He walked up behind him and patted his shoulder once. "How ya keepin'?" he asked in his old, country voice.

Desmond looked up and smiled. He had no idea how to answer that...

The truth was that Desmond wasn't keeping very well. Right before he'd left for work, he and Lucy had had a fight about Rebecca's leaving. Apparently, the latter of the three had decided to offer Lucy a chance to go along WITH them. But, of course, not to take Desmond. What had made it into an actual fight was... Lucy had really been seriously considering it.

"It's not like you'd miss me that much, Desmond," she had said. "You could take some extra time at work, and you'd probably barely even notice I was gone."

Desmond's heart throbbed a bit as he remembered this, and his face turned up in an involuntary wince. That the boss did not miss.

"Not too good, huh?"

"No," replied Desmond with a sigh. "Not too good, at the moment..."

"Well, can I help?" asked the boss, pulling a rotating chair up and sitting informally in it.

Desmond shrugged. "I hope so." He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his tired eyes. "The problem is, my girlfriend's... not too happy with me having this job. I mean, she likes it here," he added, hastily, realizing how bad that sounded, "but since I started doing it every weekend, she's just... not too thrilled about that. And the other problem with that is, she hasn't seen her family for business reasons of her own for a long time... and the holiday's coming up. The whole season is, actually, and... she's just... not too happy about the time we have to spend apart. We hadn't seen each other for almost two years, so... it's kind of a strain."

Desmond imagined the boss felt like he was being very nice with what he said next. "Well, why not bring her some nights?"

Desmond grinned, and hoped his guilt about having sex with Lucy in the steam room didn't show. "Yeah!" he said with mock enthusiasm. "Maybe... maybe THAT'S the key!" He leaned forward and held his hand out. "Thank you much!"

"You're welcome," responded the owner, shaking Desmond's hand. "I'd love to meet her! She's a lucky girl."

Desmond looked at his propped-up feet with a smile. "I'm a lucky man," he answered softly.

The onwer's lips pulled together, and his eyes found their way lazily to the side. "Desmond, how often do you work every weekend?"

"So far, just about every one. I mean, Jim doesn't want to do every single weekend, and I don't blame him. It's just... well, when I took the job, my girlfriend wasn't with me, so I wanted the time to pass. And I wanted the extra money. And, yeah, I do like it here a lot. It's just... it was kind of an... every-once-in-a-while thing, at the time."

The owner sighed. "I see. I think I may have to talk to Betty about getting someone to alternate them with you, then. You've been a very good employee. We appreciate that you helped us when were in such a tight spot."

Desmond nodded. "I appreciate the job. I mean, everyone here's been very understanding about things. And what with my parents coming here all the time, too–"

"–and we don't mind that," said the owner with a dismissive smile and a wave of his hand. "We much appreciate that, as well! Your parents have been very generous to us, also. But, I think it's time we talk about bringing someone else into the picture." He stopped and frowned at the display screen for the security cameras. "I'm sorry, Desmond, I had no idea it was causing you troubles at home."

Desmond's stomach churned. Great. NOW what have I done? he thought. "Oh, no! It's not your job to–"

"–oh, but it is," interrupted the owner with a kindly smile. "As an employer, it is my job to create a good working environment for my employees. Especially when they've been as loyal as you." He reached forward and took a piece of printer paper from the stack on the desk beside the copier that was situated next to them. "I'm not blind, Desmond: I know what a lot of people think of Barry, around here. And he's always been a dear friend of mind, but there's one thing he and I have always disagreed on, and that's how to operate in a business environment. How to cultivate it for success."

He drew a straight line on the sheet of paper. "Say this is our spa. There are two ways it could go from here. Up–" he drew a line up, "–or down. The problem is, the goal is up. What Barry doesn't seem to understand is... going up requires a good, strong, healthy cycle to be created." He next drew a circle encompassing all of the line except the up and down additions to it. "That's how we grow. If the employees aren't happy, the place goes down a bit. If the employers don't do their part to help make the employees happy, they lose good people. When good people are lost, the guests are less happy about it, and the guests we attract are the harder, more demanding kind." He leaned in, and whispered, "You know, like the kind we have tonight."

Desmond grinned and cocked his head to the side with false innocence. "Why, whatever do you mean?"

After a short laugh, "Well, anyway... When the guests are hard and demanding, nobody wants to work here. And when that happens, we've got no business." He semi-threw the pen back into the white, plastic basket from whence it had come. "That creates a bad cycle, not a good one. It leads us down a bad road."

Desmond sighed, folded his arms across his chest, and stared down at the drawing thoughtfully. "So, I promise you this, after the holidays, we'll be looking into getting you a replacement. And in the meantime... now, I don't know what kind of relationship you have with your girlfriend, but... try to apply a little of this thinking to it, as well. You're one part owner, and she's other. And the relationship is the business. Try to create a good cycle."

Desmond nodded. "Yeah... Yeah, you're right. Thanks."

The owner again patted Desmond's shoulder, then pulled himself out of his informal seating position. "Well... it's time for me to crash. I've been up since 4:30 somebody else's time, so..."

"Ooh, yeah, it's definitely time," replied Desmond, with a grin. "You have a good night."

"And you, as well!"

He disappeared around the corner, and Desmond ran a hand through his always-short hair. In the reflection coming from the now-darkened computer screen, he could see that his eyes were beginning to go back to their old, golden color. He slowly raised a hand and touched his fingertips to his forehead. He really hadn't used Eagle Vision in a long, long time... Or been in the Animus. It was strange to think about, especially during the times it had happened. He'd always thought, it seemed like he was never going to get back to normal, was he?

He reached into his back pocket and withdrew the new smart phone his parents had insisted he let them get for him. He saw, with a hint of discouragement, that his father had messaged him several times on it. He rolled his eyes, then looked up to the ceiling with a weary exhalation. Why?

Withdrawing the stylus from the side slot it was stowed in, he ignored his father's message, and found Lucy's name within his limited contacts. Slowly, but surely, he began tapping away at the letters. And slowly, but surely, they formed a message.

Lucy, I talked to Michael. You know, the Canadian owner. He says that, after the holidays, they're going to hire someone else to alternate weekends with me.

And... I wanted to apologize to you, too. I wanted to tell you that I DO know that I've been gone all the time. I know you've been lonely, and I know I once promised you I'd never leave you as alone as you used to be. I've failed at that, several times. When I come home tomorrow, if you'll let me, I'll make it up to you. I promise I can at least do THAT much.

And don't worry, if they don't hire anyone else after the holidays, I'll quit. I promise that, too.

I love you.

He hit "Send". And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But nothing happened. She never responded, never wrote back. Around two o'clock that morning, Desmond sighed and turned his phone off, certain he wouldn't be hearing anything.

The steam room, he had discovered in however long he'd been working there, was also useful as an actual steam room. At it was only a half hour later that Desmond drug himself over to the barn with a sigh, and stripped. No swimming suit, after all...

As soon as he stepped into the room, the steam rolled across his body. He took a deep breath, and went to sit on the bench. He leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes, and let the condensation roll down over his shoulders and down his chest. The steam wound its way comfortingly around him, and loosened his muscles up a bit. He thought, somewhat sadly, of Lucy, and their time together there. Remembering how she'd cried on him eased some of his mild bitterness that she'd ignored his message earlier. She was so upset, so hurt... all the time, it seemed.

He put his hands behind his head, and tried to think of something he could do to make it easier for her...

And even though he didn't really want to admit it... he knew the answer.

At least the rest of the shift was calm and relaxing. Enough so that he almost went to sleep. Again. He did have to wash an extra towel, though. To make up for his.

When Desmond pulled into the driveway, he leaned his head forward against the steering wheel and sighed. He did NOT want to go and deal with an angry Lucy. He could only imagine his message – which he had meant very honestly – would only make it worse. Her response (or lack thereof) indicated she had probably taken it the wrong way, or not trusted it.

Discouraged, he climbed the stairs to his apartment and twisted the door open, rolling his eyes in the process. She'd forgotten to lock the door. He wondered if she was even back from Rebecca's...

His eyes caught sight of the plate of food sitting on the table, and he jumped, slightly. Lucy was not only there, but... she'd still made him breakfast.

Although he was actually hungry, he hurried towards the bedroom quickly, but stopped when, instead, he found her on the couch. His heart softened as he saw that she was curled up in a blanket, and was holding a piece of paper. The same piece of paper he'd been trying to get away from her for months.

With a quiet breath, he edged out of his shoes and crossed the carpeted floor to get it from her. Her sleeping hands surrendered it with little fight.

When he opened it, his eyes widened as he recognized, in his own messy scrawl, another message he had written for her. Three years ago.

"Desmond?" came the singsong voice of Lucy. "Right here."

He turned, and saw she sitting on one of those black, metal benches in between some large plants that were growing in pots set around the HQ. A courtesy of his mother.

He approached Lucy with a smile. "Hi," he said, huskily, and accepted her hug. "Thanks so much for coming."

"Are you kidding? Thank YOU. I didn't think I'd have anyone to hang out with while Gary was gone."

Desmond jumped back with mock-surprise. "Gary's gone?"

"Yep," Lucy sighed. "Sure is. Your father sent him and his team out on an emergency mission. To Ireland. Some Templar stragglers are holding out there, and they've killed three of us."

"Gary has a team..."

"Yes, and they're the best for this job, I think. I was going to go, but they needed me here, so... I couldn't."

"Oh," was all Desmond could say.

So, he had been kinda right before. She really HAD wanted to be with Gary. Great.

"Well, I'm... er, sorry it couldn't be done." He forced a smile on his face. "But, I bet we'll have a good time tonight." He held out his arm playfully to her. "My lady?"

"Good sir," she responded with a bright grin and accepted. "Where to first?"

"I was thinking you might be hungry. And if you're not, there's a good chance you will be before the movie's over."

Lucy nodded. Yeah. It's a long movie, isn't it?"

"Sure is."

And they started walking. There was a silence between them that was comfortable even when they HADN'T been romantically involved with each other. Occasionally, as they went through the very large HQ building, they would point out some nice features.

Desmond experienced a brief moment of guilt when they passed Lila, who looked mildly surprised (but obligingly happy) by the sight of Lucy on his arm. He wondered if he'd been wrong to lead her on as he had...

But all thoughts of that were forgotten when they stepped out into the busy street, and Lucy snuggled into him.

But there was something... almost nervous about how she did it, too. "You okay?" he couldn't help asking.

"Mm hmm," she replied, with half the cheer she had been exhibiting a moment ago. "It's just, sometimes the city bothers me. I grew up in a small town."

Eagerly, Desmond latched onto this conversation piece... and opportunity to learn more about her for future reference. "Oh? Tell me a little bit more about that."

"It was in Illinois, actually. A little town there, where my mom had been born. We owned this house. This small, but beautiful house. I remember the upstairs most clearly. There were little cubbyholes built into the walls there. I used to put my blankets and pillows in there, and sleep at nights. Dad always shook his head with a smile when he saw me. Mom would tell him to leave me alone. She was kidding too, of course.

"There was a big, open field of grass behind the house. Mom would be hanging the laundry out on the clothesline. I'd be running around in the grass. I remember my father teaching my how to fly a kite. One of my favorites movies as a kid was Mary Poppins, of course..."

"But, of course," said Desmond, with a snap of his fingers and thump to his chest. "Flying nannies, what more could you ask for?"

"Oh, Desmond..." sighed Lucy. "I understand if it might not be your favorite movie, but–"

"–I like it," interrupted Desmond defensively.

Lucy eyed him suspiciously. "Really?"

"Yeah. It was actually the very first movie my parents would let me see. Dad seemed to think it was free enough of the Templars' influence that it wouldn't cause me any physical or mental harm." He rolled his eyes. "I remember what I was most fascinated by was the horses coming off the merry-go-round..."

"And the fox hunt," said Lucy, knowingly.

Desmond looked at her. "Yeah. How did you–"

"–I heard so from your mom."

"...Oh."

She giggled, and poked his arm. "And I figured, you know... you men and your animals and violence..."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah. I've always been an animal person..."

"You always seemed to like the dogs on the Farm, your mom said."

"True," he conceded with a sigh. "I did play with them a lot." He looked up and saw a sign for a family restaurant. Oh... right. "Anyway... you were saying?"

Lucy shrugged. "That's it. That's all I was saying."

Desmond looked back at her disbelievingly. "You didn't have any friends or boyfriends or memorable teachers or anything?"

Lucy shook her head, eyes thoughtfully gazing at the pavement ahead of them. "People didn't seem to like me a whole lot back then," she said. "I mean, don't get the wrong idea." She wrapped her other arm around his that she was clinging to. "People weren't openly mean to me. They didn't ignore me, or treat me badly, or anything. I just... must not have been special enough to grab anyone's attention. My teachers were perfectly ordinary, I had one or two friends... that always seemed to be busy with someone else if I wanted to hang out. I met Rebecca in college, and by then, I knew about the Assassins, so–"

"–you are SO special."

She looked up at him with a questioning expression on her face. "What?"

"You are SO special," he repeated. "I mean, look at everything you've done."

"Yeah," she sighed. "Look at it. A war criminal, and an emotional wreck."

Desmond stopped. "Hey, give yourself a break, Luce. This wasn't easy. And you did it the longest."

Lucy shook her head. "Rebecca did it the longest."

"Okay, but still..." pressed Desmond, with a hint of irritation. "Lucy, you gotta let that go." He placed one of his hands on hers, both wrapped securely around his bicep. "We all know what happened there now, okay? It's over." He sighed, and pulled her into a hug. "It's over."

She nodded against his chest, too formally for his tastes, and then pulled back with an unconvincing smile. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right, Desmond. You are."

They continued walking. The movie theater was approaching on the end of the next block, and Desmond was trying to scan the aligning streets frantically and subtly at the same time for a nice-ish place to take her to eat.

Within moments, he spotted the perfect place. "How does Subway sound?" he asked.

Not too fancy, but not a dirty, cruddy little fast food joint, either. Healthy-esque food, and good food, by most accounts.

"Ooh," she moaned. "Sounds good. My God, I haven't been there in a long while, and–"

At that moment, her stomach growled.

"...and, you're hungry," he finished with a grin.

"Starving," she confirmed.

As they passed through the doors and got in line, Desmond settled into an old pattern of his, whenever he'd actually taken a woman on a date, and not just hooked up with her in a fit of carnal rage at the bar. Waiting in line to eat was the perfect place to appreciate the moment. Although he and his dates were rarely quiet, it was the perfect time to reflect on how... good it felt to have a date, in the first place.

Especially with Lucy! Inwardly, Desmond felt as if he could just kiss Shaun with no hesitations at all. This was working out EXTREMELY well. While they stood in line, and eventually ordered, Lucy didn't let go of his arm. With either of hers. Not even while he paid for it, and took their food. He chose a remote spot, in front of one of the windows with the neon light signs – the "OPEN" one, in big red letters. It cast a glow on them as they sat there.

And while they did, Desmond coaxed a little bit more out of her about her extended family. He learned that she had two aunts named Maryanne and Rhonda on her mother's side, and an aunt named Leanna and an only uncle named Phil on her fathers' side. She and her aunts had been fairly close, especially with her Aunt Maryanne. On her dad's side, it was her uncle who used to toss her up and catch her whenever he greeted her.

Desmond took her hand, and rubbed it gently with his thumb when she talked about how he had died when he worked as a trucker. At the funeral, she had sat with her grandma, who would die of old age just two years later.

As they stepped out of the restaurant, and back out to the streets, she hugged him from the side. And with the usual formality. "Thank you, Desmond."

He returned her warm embrace. "You're welcome." He paused. "For what?"

"Listening to me talk about my family. It just... helps."

"Oh, well... good," he said. "Honestly, it's interesting to learn a little more about you."

They separated then, and she returned to her position on his arm as they headed towards the theater.

As he predicted, the line leading into Titanic's 3D showing was sizable. Lucy looked around at all the merchandise focused on it that was spread around. There were posters, cardboard cutouts, and themed-cups and popcorn buckets, among other things.

He leaned in to whisper to her. "You want a big Jack-and-Rose popcorn?"

She laughed slightly through her nose. "Will you split it with me?"

He gave her a thumbs up. "It's a deal."

"That sounds great, then," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "With butter and... a LITTLE salt."

"A 'little'?" he inquired.

"Salt's bad for you."

"Ah. Yes, of course."

She looked at him, and saw he was grinning.

"I meant, bad for YOU, in particular, Desmond," she said with a prod of her finger to his lower jaw. "You ate way too much of it when you were working at that bar."

For a moment, Desmond wondered if he shouldn't play dumb about the background check Shaun had done on him and ask her how she knew that. But he decided against it.

"I like salty things. Or, well, sometimes," he qualified. "I guess not so much in recent times, but still..."

After that, she fell silent until they were in the movie. Once both had run to the bathroom right before it started, she settled in with her black, fancy jacket still on her shoulders.

"You still cold?" he whispered. "Want my hoodie?"

She nodded, eyes still on the screen as a preview of some movie Desmond didn't recognize played. "Please. It IS cold in here..."

It took a bit of wriggling, but soon, she was comfortably (if awkwardly) wrapped in both Desmond's hoodie and her jacket. There was no hood on her coat, and so the hood from Desmond's shirt hung out the back over the seat, providing her loose hair with a nest.

As per Shaun's overbearingly-descriptive instructions, Desmond hung out limply with a leg crossed over the other and his arms dangling loosely behind the chair.

And then the movie started. By the time all the best moments had come, Desmond was no longer in the position to do that. Lucy had absentmindedly taken his hand when Old Rose's story began, and the digital choir had begun singing its music. By the time the Irish party in the third class had come around, she was smiling and laughing without all the lines of worry that usually hung around her always-beautiful face. When they were flying at the head of the ship, Lucy put her head back on the chair. By the time Jack was drawing the portrait, it had found its way down to Desmond's shoulder. She jumped cutely when the ship collided with the ice burg, and like most people, the tears had started lightly when Rose chose to jump back on the ship to stay with Jack. During their last moments together in the ocean, Lucy's hands squeezed Desmond t-shirt by his chest. And when the final scene rolled around, the whole theater stood up for the applause when Jack and Rose kissed for the last time. Lucy smiled at Desmond as the credits rolled...

Still, no one left once the screen cut to black for the credits. But when she put her head back down on him to listen to the songs, he decided to risk something that he had been considering with a frantically-beating heart since the middle of the movie. A frantically-beating heart that didn't stop while he sang the song quietly under his breath to her as she let her read quite contentedly on the fabric of his t-shirt. She seemed nice and relaxed as they joined the rest of the crowd queuing out following the end of the credits, and when they stepped out, it was dark outside.

She took a deep breath, and accepted the napkin he had saved for her to clear her face off with. "Thank you so much for this, Desmond."

Her hair was glowing in the combined light of the moon. Her face was completely relaxed. Her eyes focused on him with a sparkle he'd never seen in ANY woman's eyes that were directed at him.

He stared at her, the muscles in his face going weak. "You're welcome," he managed to get out with a slight lump in his throat.

"Are you okay?" she asked, suddenly concerned.

He cleared his throat. "Very much so," he said truthfully. He then offered her his arm again. "Shall we?"

She accepted, and they began their walk back. The whole way there, she talked about the movie. Desmond would normally have joined in, but he saw no need: she was more than entertained enough.

When they reached the HQ, she shivered a little on their way to the elevators.

"Which room are you in?" he asked. "What floor, I mean..."

"Seven."

"Oh..." he said, jutting his lips out. "Want to have a drink, first? I have some in my room."

"That sounds fantastic."

Instead of hitting the seven button, Desmond hit the nine. Within minutes, they were outside his door, and it was there that he shivered.

"Oh, Desmond, here! I'm sorry..."

She began to take off the hoodie.

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no..." he said. "No, that's... not why I shivered."

And it wasn't. It was just the images of everything he wanted to happen between them once that door in front of him opened and closed...

"Well, here, I'm much warmer. Take it, anyway. You need it back, and now's as good a time as ever."

Desmond shrugged, "True," and accepted the hoodie.

Once the door had closed behind them, he hurried to lay it down on the bed he didn't use, so nothing would take her smell off of it.

"So..." he said, businesslike, "...what's your pleasure? I've got... beer, I've got a fancy wine of some sort here... If you want harder liquor, I've only got this bottle of vodka for mixing things up, here..."

"What kind of wine?" she asked.

"Pinot Noir. Here..." he offered her a chair.

"Why, thank you, good sir," she said, and sat in it. "And the wine sounds good. Just a glass."

"Just a glass, it is, then."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lucy appraising the deftness with which he uncorked the bottle and poured the wine into the glasses. And when he handed her hers and took a seat catty-cornered to her to lean back and fold his leg up as he had in the movie, she inclined her head.

"Very good, Desmond. I bet you were an entertaining bartender."

"Oh, yeah..." he said. "You bet. The best. At everything, and everything that came with the job."

She laughed at his playful grin and another astute snap of his fingers.

But then she fell quiet for a moment. "So... what exactly came with that job, other than getting slashed across the chest with the tip of a knife?"

Desmond cocked his head to the side and observed his condensing glass of wine in his hand. "Surprisingly, a lot. I did bar tending, security, janitor work, dealt with the orders of the food and liquor, trained new employees sometimes, and kept Christine happy."

"Christine?" asked Lucy, with polite interest.

"Yeah, Christine. The owner. She and her father let me live with them when I made it to New York. I don't think her father liked me, but she did, and he wouldn't have refused her anything she wanted. She's actually older than I am. I was nineteen when I ended up in New York. She was twenty-three. Or twenty-four, I can't remember. When her father died, I tended the bar for a year illegally. She was the only one who knew I was using a fake ID, and all that shit..."

"How did her father die?"

"Killed in an alley. Wrong place at the wrong time." Desmond sighed. "He was accidentally shot by a gangster who was in a firefight with a cop."

"Oh!" replied Lucy with gasp. "Oh, my God..."

"Or, so they told us. Christine took over the bar after that, and she needed the help – both financially and physically – and I didn't exactly want to stay with her and do nothing, so... I quit my job at the gas station I'd been working at and tended the bar."

"Is that how you 'kept her happy'?"

A small grin played at Desmond's lips. Both because the memories of keeping Christine happy were usually good, and because Lucy's voice had betrayed a hint of jealousy. But he continued to stare into his wine glass as he answered, aware of her eyes fully focused on him as he did so. "No, I kept her happy exactly the way I think you're thinking." He turned his eyes – just his eyes – to her, and could see there was a slight blush forming on her cheeks. "It was my favorite part of the job, to be honest. That–" (he rotated the glass slightly in his hands) "–and tending the bar naked some nights."

Lucy's eyes widened. "Wow... Must have attracted a lot of business that way."

"Mm hmm. That's what Christine said, but honestly, half the people or more there were naked most of the time, anyway. We didn't call it 'Bad Weather' for nothing... I think the old name used to be the 'Fox and Gun', though..."

Lucy raised her eyebrows once. "I have no idea."

A momentary silence fell between them, but Desmond soon broke it with: "Thank you for saying that, Luce."

"What?"

"That my naked body would attract business. In the weirdest of ways, given this conversation... that was... flattering."

In truth, it was arousing, and Desmond was grateful for the low lighting in his room, as well as his choice to wear black pants that night. It disguised the erection forming down below quite nicely. The fantasies of Lucy beckoning him to either of the two beds behind them were getting more and more prominent in his head...

"Well... you DO have a... nice body, Desmond," she said, softly.

This time, he couldn't stop the grin forming around his mouth. He turned his eyes back to her. "Oh, I know."

She shook her head with a single laugh. "Is that going to be our toast, then? You know, we haven't actually taken a drink of this wine, yet..."

Desmond gave her the eyebrows. "Sounds good."

They each took their glasses, and leaned forward.

"A toast, then..." she said lightly.

"To my awesome body!" he finished with husk.

And, cocking his head to the side again, they took a drink.

He hoped she didn't think he hadn't noticed her shiver in reaction to his voice...

It was after Lucy had left – refusing to let him walk her down to her room only to have to turn around and come all the way back up to his – that his eyes fell on the notepad and paper lying on the table where he was cleaning up their wine glasses and closing the bottle back up.

He dropped the two glasses and ran (a grand total of two steps) over to his hoodie. The one she had been wearing most of the night. He pulled the two pockets inside out.

It was gone.

The note was gone.

The note he had written on the off-chance that he had found himself brave enough to slip it somewhere in one of her own pockets...

It was the note he was reading now.

He exhaled sharply, and ducked his head into his fingers. Although he hadn't felt it in his eyes, he was crying.

He had never known if she'd ever found that note, or not.

And since she'd never said anything, he assumed it had just fallen out of his pocket at some point during the course of the events of that night.

Looking at her now... all curled up underneath a thin blanket... hand outstretched and closed around the note that she didn't know in her subconscious he had taken from her hands... he just couldn't stop himself.

Frantically, he turned, and took everything out of his pockets. He kicked his shoes off, pulled both shirts off over his head. Dropped his jeans around his ankles, and pulled his socks off he leaned down help his feet out of his jeans. If she was going to be cold, he would, too.

He then climbed onto the couch behind her, and pulled her up against his body. He held her, kissing her and whispering her name, and how much he loved her to her in her sleep.

When he finally calmed down, he caught sight of the note as that had fallen from his hands in his frantic undressing. It had fallen face up. Before he closed his eyes, and went to sleep, with the sunlight touching the blinds lightly behind him and above the couch, he read it one last time...

"Lucy...

I love you.

Desmond"