Ranger stood in the shower, his forehead leaned against the tiles under the showerhead and his hands braced wide, shoulder height. He knew that if he stood there much longer he would likely fall asleep standing, but it had been a long day and he'd taken some pretty hard hits in the shoulders and chest and so he let the hot water flow over his body, caressing and soothing. When the water began to cool, he shut the shower off and got out.
Just a few weeks ago, he'd have spent the night in the apartment above the office, but now he felt the pull of returning here, to her, so strongly that he'd ignored the near exhaustion that slumped him into his chair at the office and driven himself home.
He toweled off and padded silently into the bedroom, his eyes immediately going to the huge bed against the far wall. Moonlight came in through the window and sliced across the bed where she lie, naked, barely covered by the thin sheet. The quality of the light made her skin glow as though she was made of pearl, lustrous and gleaming.
She was a restless but heavy sleeper, and she sprawled across the bed, her arms wrapped around both pillows. Even in her sleep she was aware of him, aware of his regard, and she unerringly stretched one arm in his direction, turning her face to him.
"Ranger," she breathed in her sleep. His chest tightened and he closed his eyes. He had wanted her and pursued her, but never expected to be made to feel like this for her.
He moved closer to the bed and his fingers hovered over her face. The contrast between her pale, glowing skin and his own darker skin was exaggerated in the light, symbolic of their very natures – hers open and well-lit and his closed and shadowed. He stroked the back of one finger down the line of her throat and up the swell of her breast and watched as she shifted toward him, turning and opening her body. So responsive. So welcoming.
A sharp creak caught his attention and he stood and moved off on his nightly ritual to make sure the house was secure – make sure she was safe. Years of cautious living made him vary the routine so that there was no set pattern to how he checked the house.
Even as he checked the locks and alarms he felt the familiar cold seep into his chest. None of this was ever enough.
Once his specialty had been in stealth – in moving like a part of the wind, unheard, unseen, like a ghost, entering in secret. Often bringing destruction and chaos in with him and leaving behind a ruin. Or taking something away.
It had given him the knowledge that prized – or loved – things were never safe. That taking them or destroying them was so much simpler than protecting them. A small mistake, a slip, and she could be gone. It made him relentless even as he recognized the futility.
It had caused him to drive her away at first, until the pain of being away from her exceeded the pain of the fear of losing her.
He walked back into the bedroom. As he lay down on the bed he felt her curl around him and with that the icy tightness in his chest began to ease. He willed his strung-out body to calm, one muscle at a time, as he relaxed back into her welcoming warmth and softness, the delicate scent of her skin clean and soothing. His own breathing deepened and slowed and he turned his head in, against her flesh, as sleep claimed him.
"Babe," he whispered into her skin.