Some text inspired by the songs, Fearless, Mastermind, Suburban Legends, The Way I Loved You, This is Me Trying, and Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift as well as Renegade by Taylor Swift and Big Red Machine. Also, a nod to Meredith Grey and her famous 'choose me' plea.

The week had gone by quickly, as was always the way it was when we were making progress on a case. The opposite was also true; the last three weeks had crawled by when every lead was a dead end, and we were just spinning our wheels. Once we started looking at Sophia's death as a botched attempted sexual assault, things moved quickly. By the end of Tuesday, Handsome Nick and Kat had interviewed all six of the women my search had turned up as possible victims of our rapist. I'd been correct; all the women resembled Sophia, and my Spidey Sense tingled, telling me I was on the right track–this was Rodriguez. I wondered if Sophia was just another victim or if she had been the goal all along and the others had simply been substitutes until he was able to have her, if she was his fixation the entire time. Had he been stalking her?

It made me wonder if she hadn't died during the assault, what he might have had in store for her? Would he have killed her anyway? She, unlike the others, knew his identity. From what I'd learned from her file and interviews with those who knew her, she would have sought justice in the courts. He also had to know her brothers, at least by reputation. If she told them he'd raped her, prison would look like a vacation, but the Mendes brothers most likely had connections there as well; either way, if she lived, Daniel Rodriguez would have been a dead man. I thought back to the horrific story Ranger had told me. In the end, Rodriguez had died as a result of his attack on Sophia anyway. What if he hadn't intended for anyone to find out? Or find her at all? What if his obsession ran deep enough that he kidnapped her? If he was raping other women pretending they were her, I doubted he'd have been satisfied with the single assault. I shivered at the thought of what hellish existence he could have had planned for Sophia. Her accidental death may have been a blessing.

All the women interviewed had similar stories, as well as descriptions of their attacker, one that fit Rodriguez to a T. He was around five feet ten, Latino, and average build. He'd had short hair, brown eyes, good-looking, but not handsome. Very unassuming, not someone who'd catch your attention or be noticed in a crowd. Two of the women said there was something familiar about him, but they couldn't place him. They felt like they'd seen him somewhere, but weren't sure where, though they got the feeling they may have crossed paths with him before. One woman likened it to seeing the nurse from the doctor's office in the grocery store. You know she looks familiar, but you can't place her until you realize it on your next visit. Except in this case, it was no wonder none of them ever made the connection to where they knew him from, between the trauma of the violent attack and the rapist's threat to return and the description of what he would do to her when he did.

They all had injuries serious enough to warrant the trip to the ER, but the reasons they didn't follow through with the police varied. A few of them had boyfriends involved with local gangs and didn't trust the police in general. A couple didn't have gang ties, but knew with the current load of work the police department was under, it wouldn't amount to anything, and didn't want to bother or put their energy into something that would be fruitless. A couple of victims were simply ashamed and wanted to bury what had happened to them, living in denial. Even ten years later, they didn't say much; they'd probably clocked most of the trauma away.

This last group hit me hard personally. When I was bounty hunting, there were an endless number of situations I found myself in where I was nearly raped, not to mention kidnapped, shot, stabbed, or beaten. Back then I thought just tamping down the fear, the anger, the anxiety, and moving on like nothing had happened made me strong. What I know now, after working through those experiences with Handsome Handsome Nick, was that I was simply in denial, and what took real strength was to unpack all the trauma, realize how it was affecting my actions, and deal with it. That meant allowing myself the space to cry or get angry, then move on.

It was the interviews with his victims that led me to an important clue in Sophia's case that would eventually lead us to Daniel Rodriguez. It seemed that Daniel thought of himself as a helpful guy, a gentleman. In each case, the women reported their attacker approached them on the premise of helping or rescuing them as the good Samaritan he pretended to be. In one case, assisting a woman in the park who'd lost her dog, another who had a flat tire on her bike, and the rest, like Sophia, had too many bags to carry. These were women he encountered on the street, not at the grocery store where he worked. I made a mental note, that once we named Rodriguez as a suspect, to ask the women if they shopped at El Nuevo Mundo Market. That may have been his hunting ground, how he chose his victims. If he had simply watched them, but didn't have a lot of contact with them in the store, that could account for the familiar feeling some of his victims had about their attacker.

Once we discovered how our rapist approached our victims, I had a way to tie him to Sophia. While that opened the door to linking Sophia and Daniel's deaths. I was worried about it looking too obvious; I need to be careful about how many leads I stumbled on. I reminded myself that I needed to be patient and trust in my team members that they'd find the connection on their own. It was the waiting that was the hard part. I was not the most patient person. Besides that, the whole thing filled me with anxiety. I was worried that somehow Ranger would be outed and Jeanne Ellen would be one step closer to her endgame, whatever that was. But at the same time, I was worried that once the case was closed, and we got to the bottom of who was trying to sabotage Ranger, he would disappear from my life again. Finding the pregnancy tests led to a series of deep conversations; in some ways, we'd gained ground, but nothing was settled between us. During the week, we'd had lots of discussions about what was happening between us, and we also had a lot of sex, allowing our bodies to speak for us in a way words never could. Nothing was decided, though. Nothing was settled, and Ranger and I had a long history of bad decisions and miscommunications working against us.

Either way, I didn't have long to worry about it. At this morning's meeting, Kat and Handsome Nick reported on their interviews with the women we thought were victims of the same rapist that had attacked Sophia. When Nick mentioned our attacker had gained access by helping his victims, I could see something click for Adam. By the time Kat mentioned the suspect offering to help carry their bags, Adam's fingers were flying over this keyboard, and when he turned the screen towards us, the images of Sophia's spilled groceries and melted ice cream were on his screen. Since he was so familiar with the case, he then pulled up the evidence list before clicking a few more keys.

"There was a receipt in her purse," he explained excitedly. "She checked out at El Nuevo Mundo Market at 11:35."

Nick responded, "That's less than an hour before she died, and our guy found her somewhere on her way home and helped her carry them."

"Or passed by the house as she was carrying them inside," Kat added.

Adam contemplated, "I don't suppose they still have video surveillance ten years later." The look on his face showed his frustration. We'd given up bitching about how half-assed the initial investigation into her death was. It wasn't productive and did nothing but piss us off. He shook his head before answering his own question, "Probably not."

Annoyed, Nick added, "And what are the odds anyone who worked there ten years ago is still there? Turnover is so high at my grocery store, they quit ordering the engraved name tags like I had when I bagged groceries when I was in high school." He sounded a little like my mother, bemoaning how things were better in the old days. "They change so much that they might as well wear those 'Hi, my name is,' sticky ones you have to wear at some dumbass conference."

Kat and I just stared at him, a little dumbfounded at his rant. He glared at us, "What? I grocery shop. Emily makes the list, I shop, she cooks, I do the dishes." I have to say, I was a little impressed. Of course I grew up in the Burg, where the husband was only expected to mow the lawn, shovel snow and take out the garbage, and the wife did everything else. "She tried the delivery service and pick up, but there were too many mistakes and weird substitutions."

While he was explaining, Kat was typing away. She pulled up the image of the grocery store. "I don't know, we might be in luck. This is a small chain; they only have three stores, and it's family-owned. If it's anything like the one in my neighborhood, it's been the same old man behind the meat counter and old woman running the bakery since it opened." She had a good point. Gioviccini's Italian Market in the Burg was like that. "Plus, in a small store like that, you have repeat customers, and they develop relationships. It's not Albertsons. From everything I've read, Sophia was the sort of person who everybody loved, I'm guessing that extended to the people at her local grocery store, and I'm sure her being murdered is something they'd remember."

Nick pushed back from the table. "Okay, I guess we're off to El Nuevo Mundo Market." Kat followed suit.

I was thrilled that everything was falling into place. I was also excited that their visit presented an opportunity to enjoy one of my new favorite treats. "Oh, will you bring me back a pineapple empanada?" Before moving to California, I had no idea that they made the wonderful pastries with sweet filling, having only tried the savory meat-filled ones Hector had brought me after a trip to visit his mother. I'd tried the apple and pumpkin ones as well, but the pineapple ones were by far my favorite.

While the two of them were out in the field, Adam and I went back to our computers, looking for any more clues to further our case. I was hoping Nick and Kat would return with the name Daniel Rodriguez. If the grocery store staff remembered Sophia's death, they had to remember their assistant manager being murdered and found in the dumpster behind the store in the same time period, even if they'd never made a connection between the two. I just had to be patient a little while longer.

Unfortunately, that left me with little work to do, which left me plenty of time to think, and my mind wandered to the man of mystery I'd left in my apartment this morning–more specifically the events of Monday night when he found the pregnancy tests I'd bought mixed in with the groceries.

Ranger just stared at me, holding the stupid box, the look on his face changing from shock, to fear, to hope before finally settling on apprehension.

I was quick to assure him, "I'm not pregnant." He looked at the box in his hand and then back at me, skeptical. I hedged, "I mean, I don't think I'm pregnant." He just waited, staring at me, his eyes moving from my face, down to my waist, then back up again. I scowled at him. "Stop that. I'm not pregnant. I never considered that I could possibly be pregnant until you showed up and forced your delusion on me."

"Then why buy the test?" He still looked confused.

I huffed, "Because ever since you brought it up, I can't stop thinking about it. I mean, you put the idea in my head, and now it won't go away."

"Do you think you could be?" he questioned. The slightly hopeful look was back, and it unnerved me.

I sank into one of the tall chairs at the breakfast bar. "I don't know, I don't think so. I don't feel pregnant."

He sounded hesitant. "But you said you'd been on birth control for years. Would you know if you never… I mean, if you don't.." The big badass couldn't bring himself to say the words.

A little laugh escaped due to his discomfort, despite the situation. "You mean, since I don't get my period?" I emphasized the last word just to torture him. He winced, but just nodded in response. Men, yeesh. "Just because I don't get my period doesn't mean there aren't other signs."

Something about how I said it, or the look on my face, caused him to drop the box and come around the island to stand in front of me, invading my space. "When?" It wasn't a demand so much as a plea. Shit.

I sighed, realizing I'd somehow revealed too much, or his ESP was in overdrive. It was amazing I'd been able to keep it from him this long, might as well come clean. To be honest, I'd blocked it out until I found myself staring at that little box on the grocery store shelf. I looked down at my hands, clasped together in my lap. "After Hawaii. I'd been taking antibiotics, and they can make birth control less effective." When the morning sickness started, I panicked. When it didn't go away, I'd driven to Newark to buy a test and made a couple of trips to St. Anthony to say a prayer or two. I'd been stupid enough to have slept with Morelli before I'd left on vacation, and he would have insisted it was his, and the reason I should marry him. I never even considered it could be his, probably because just the thought of a future with him was horrifying, but realistically, with the timing of it all, when I started taking the medication, and what I knew in my heart, it was Ranger.

When I kept my head down, he used his fingers to tip up my chin, so I had no choice but to look at him. His blank mask was firmly in place, but I could see he was trying to cover his shock, confusion, and anger. Imagining that exact look was what caused me to keep it from him in the first place. His voice was even and measured. "Why didn't you tell me?"

While he was hiding his emotions, mine were on full display. I jerked my head out of his grasp and stood, squaring up with him. Poking him in the chest, I justified my actions. "Because of that look on your face right now. You'd made it clear to me what you did and didn't want from me, and a baby was clearly on the didn't list."

He snatched my finger, which was still jabbing him repeatedly. His voice had that hard, don't fuck with me, edge to it. "You should've told me. I had the right to know."

I tried to pull my hand out of his grasp, but he held tight, making me angrier. "Why? So you could tell me again that you weren't family material, show me the two guns and knife you were carrying? We hadn't used a condom, but that a ring still wasn't an option?" I spit his words back at him. "Hear your offer to pay for an abortion, or to send me a check once a month after you left town? I didn't want to hear about how I'd fucked up and ruined everything." It all came rushing back, the fear, the worry, the pain of knowing he'd be out of my life forever as soon as I told him. What made it worse was knowing I'd have a constant reminder of the man I loved and lost in the form of a little person who undoubtedly would be just like their father, Ranger's badass genetics overpowering my own.

The mask slipped for a brief second, my hurtful words finding their target. Rather than address it, he got angry. "You. Should. Have. Told. Me." he gritted out, his jaw so tight, I thought it might break. He still had a hold of me, and his grip tightened; he was so caught up in his fury, he didn't even notice.

I let out a little cry at the pain, and he dropped my hand, like it had burned him. He turned away and took a few steps, bracing his hands on the counter. I could see him working on gathering himself, taking deep breaths. While he'd wounded me emotionally more times than I could count, he'd never physically hurt me. I knew it was unintentional, but I also recognized that this was the way things were between us. The connection we had allowed us to reach and comfort each other in ways no one else could; we also knew what buttons to push for maximum destruction. While I was never level-headed, Ranger was. While I possessed the ability to comfort and soothe him, I could also push him to a place no one else could, and since things went bad between us, I often did. Making him lose his cool, and knowing I was the only one who could, gave me some sort of perverse pleasure. Doing so was what generally caused us to end up in bed, or on the table, kitchen counter, or up against the wall, using our bodies to work out the anger, frustration, and other emotions we couldn't allow ourselves to give voice to. It hadn't fixed things back then, and it sure as hell wasn't going to help now, even if it seemed the easier way out.

Finally able to rein it in, he turned to face me. The anger had receded some, hurt taking its place. Meeting my eyes, he took a deep, steadying breath and calmly said, "I wish you'd told me. I'm sorry you thought I'd blame you. I would've left the decision up to you, supported your choice, but you should've told me. I had the right to know."

Guilt started to well up; he was right, I should've told him, I knew it then, and I knew it now. Every time I'd tried, worked up the nerve, something would happen or we got interrupted and I didn't get the chance. Then it didn't matter anymore, and it was no longer an issue. I told myself there was no point in telling him after the fact. As I processed the rest of his words, I realized what he assumed I'd done, and that I was an idiot. I'd fucked up, not only by not telling him at the time, but by not being clear now. It was a repeat of the colossal fight we had the first night he'd arrived, fuck. Why was I so terrible at this? Why were we so terrible at this? Maybe I was wrong, maybe it would never work between us if we couldn't have a conversation without a misunderstanding that spiraled so far out of control that one or both of us ended up getting hurt. That's not what I wanted for either of us.

I wanted to cry, could feel the tears pricking at the back of my eyes, but refused to let them fall. This was my fault, I needed to focus on making him understand and not worry about the rest of it right now. So I sucked it up, looked him in the eye and confessed, "I'm sorry. You're right. I should have told you. I tried to tell you, but I should've tried harder, but then it didn't matter anymore." His jaw tightened further, and I knew I'd done it again. Fuck. The words came rushing out, trying to fix it. "I didn't have an abortion. I miscarried. It was early on, couldn't have been more than a few weeks along, and I didn't see any point in telling you after that." At that point, I lost my battle, and the tears started pouring out. "I'm sorry," I blubbered. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it when it happened, and I'm sorry you thought… I didn't mean for you to think…" I gave up and slumped back into the chair, sobbing like the fool I was.

In a heartbeat, he crossed the distance between us and had me in his arms, my head cradled against his chest. I tried to pull away. This was my fault, he shouldn't be comforting me. I didn't deserve it, but he refused to let me go, and I finally stopped struggling. I cried harder, the familiar feeling overwhelming me: Stephanie Plum had fucked up once again, and Ranger was the one holding me, comforting me, ignoring the injuries or wounds he'd suffered while having to clean up my mess.

When I finally ran out of steam and tears, he scooped me up and carried me into the living room, settling on the couch with me in his lap. He was running his hand up and down my back, trying to soothe me, whispering the familiar Spanish endearments into my hair. Trying to pull myself together, I hiccuped, then croaked out another apology, my voice hoarse and raspy. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you… that I wasn't clear." In a whisper, I confessed the rest, the worst part, the feeling which caused me to lock the memory away, too much to bear. "I lost the baby…and part of me was sad, but another part of me was relieved." At my words, he squeezed me tighter, and the waterworks started anew. It was the first time I'd admitted my shame, even to myself.

I felt him shift and then realized he'd grabbed the tissues from the end table. He handed me a few, and I tried to compose myself. I knew I was a mess, but it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. I wanted to apologize again, but was afraid I'd start sobbing, so I just sat quietly, drawing on his strength, but I didn't feel like I deserved it, and wouldn't have blamed him if he got up and walked out. Seeming to realize I couldn't look at him right now, he just held me to him as he spoke, his tone soft and warm. "I'm sorry, Babe." He swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry you didn't feel like you could tell me, that you had to deal with it on your own." His voice got softer. "I'd like to tell you that you were wrong about how I'd have reacted…" He trailed off before adding, "It sounds idiotic to say it would have been a shock considering we'd never used a condom. I probably wouldn't have handled it well."

"What changed?" I asked, tipping my head up to look him in the eye. "When you showed up Friday night, you were convinced I was pregnant, and that was the reason I wanted to talk to you. You weren't upset, or angry; if anything, you seemed disappointed when I told you I wasn't." I still didn't understand why he'd acted the way he did. It was completely out of character.

He sighed. "I told you before, I'm not much of a father to the one child I do have, and I didn't want any more."

I interrupted, "Didn't or don't?"

He scrubbed his face with his hands and then ran them through his hair in that way that always got to me, absentmindedly making me want him. Get a grip, Steph, I told myself. He lay his head back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. "If you'd asked me that before I got your text on Friday, I would've said don't."

When he paused, I pressed, not able to control myself, "And now?"

Tipping his head down, he looked me in the eye and confessed, "I don't know." He looked as lost and confused as I felt. "I didn't expect it to hurt so much when you left." I was stunned at his admission. "At first, when the FBI contacted me, asking if I'd recommend you for the job, I didn't think you'd go through with it, leave Trenton. I guess I thought you'd stay, maybe get back with Morelli, or some other guy, get married and have babies. I'd have hated it, and would've had to constantly keep myself from murdering the guy, but you'd be there. Maybe things between us would get better, maybe not, but I'd still see you, be able to watch over you. But then you did it, you left Trenton, left your family, all to get away from me." The part about me becoming a happy housewife irked me, but not as much as him believing I wouldn't follow through with making the change in my life.

Before I could argue, he continued, a sad smile on his face. "I was proud of you, for standing up to me, putting yourself first." He looked around my apartment, "You made a life for yourself; you've done well, Babe." I felt that little flicker of warmth bloom in my chest, the one that was always present whenever he told me he was proud of me. "I knew it was what you needed to do, what was best for you, and I tried to convince myself it was what was best for me too. Needing you made me feel weak, and without you there, I'd have no distractions, and be able to focus on my work, and my business."

My body tensed at his words, I didn't like being called a weakness or a distraction. I wanted to argue with him, but he'd opened up, and the words kept coming, acting as out of character as his attitude towards having a baby had been on Friday night. I clamped my lips shut and listened. "I was wrong. I was miserable, angry, and alone, and it was my own fucking fault for pushing you away. There were so many times I had to stop myself from texting, calling, or just showing up on your doorstep. I told you at Christmas that I was trying to respect your boundaries, but it wasn't easy, and I knew it wouldn't be fair to you. Nothing had changed in my life, in what I wanted for myself, and I still doubted I could even be in a relationship, I had no experience, and was afraid that if we tried, I'd disappoint you, or hurt you even more than I already had." So far, he hadn't answered my question, just renewed my frustration, anger and heartache as he reminded me of all the reasons I'd left in the first place.

I tried to climb off his lap, get away from him and his stupid, fucked up explanation of why he didn't want to be with me. He held tight and continued, "When I got your text, when you wanted to talk, it was the only good thing to happen in my life since you kissed me in the car outside your parents' house at Christmas." The longing in his voice stopped my movements, and I looked up at him as he explained. "I told you that I spent the flight trying to figure out what you needed to talk to me about, being pregnant was the only thing that made sense. Instead of the thought filling me with dread, it felt like a relief, a lifeline." I held my tongue and just listened, but I couldn't make sense of what he was trying to say. He reasoned, "I told you I'm a strategist. I made a plan for my life. The only reason to change the plan is when there's no other option. If you were pregnant, I'd have to change my plans, I'd have no other choice."

He said it in a way that led me to believe I was supposed to be glad, grateful fate had forced his hand, and I would have gotten what I wanted, if only by default. I wanted to clarify. "If I were pregnant, you'd have to be with me?"

He nodded, missing all the signs that I was headed for rhino mode after his confession. He seemed oblivious to the fact that I was not, in fact, thrilled by his admission, because he kept going, "Not have to, get to. The choice would be made for me." It was so logical, so pragmatic, so insulting.

He wasn't expecting the movement, so I was able to jump up off his lap and started pacing back and forth, trying to contain my anger. I lost the battle and turned to him, astounded by his stupidity. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

He didn't understand my reaction, just staring at me like I was a bomb he didn't know how to defuse, cautious, but confused.

I threw my hands in the air and explained the obvious. "I don't want you to be with me because of a baby, because you'd feel obligated! I want you to want me! Choose me! Pick me! Love me! I want you to be with me because you need me, because living without me isn't an option!" I bit back tears of frustration. "I told myself when I left Trenton, that I was moving on, building a life for myself, one that didn't involve you because you were unable or unwilling to offer me anything more than your friendship and your body." I swallowed hard, my voice barely more than a whisper. "But for a year, for a whole year, I lied to myself. I waited for you. For an entire year, I pretended that a new life, free of you, was what I wanted, but I was in denial. I woke up every single day thinking in the back of my mind that today would be the day you'd reach out, tell me you were wrong, and beg me to come back."

I knew I was being dramatic, but couldn't stop myself. There was a time in my life when I'd have been willing to have him any way I could. At one point, I had, letting him love me only in secret, but not anymore. I knew I deserved more. Meeting his eyes again, I saw the truth of the matter. It wasn't about me at all. He didn't want to need me, didn't think he deserved more than what we already had.

Not willing to continue to argue a moot point, I said, "It doesn't matter anyway, I'm not pregnant." With that, I turned and walked out of the room. I went to the kitchen, snatched the box off the counter before turning back around, marching past him into my bedroom and bathroom, shutting both doors solidly behind me. With more calm than I felt, I opened the box, selected a test, and proceeded to follow the directions. Placing the stick on the counter, I washed my hands before putting the box and the rest of the tests in the cabinet under the sink, in the far back corner where I wouldn't have to see them and be reminded of the fact that in his eyes, two pink lines were the only way he'd allow himself to alter his life plans. That the only way to a future for us was if fate forced his hand.

I spent the next three minutes tidying the vanity, putting away the beauty products that had migrated to a home on the counter when I was too lazy to return them to their designated spot. I tried to keep myself from thinking about the seconds counting down on the alarm set on my phone. I didn't think I was pregnant. I didn't want to be pregnant, for Ranger and me to be tied forever by a child. It was bad enough that it felt like I was forever fated to love him, want him, need him, no matter what happened. For him to only allow us to be together because of a child wasn't enough, not for me. I also recognized that he would fight me on it, and I wasn't sure that I was strong enough to win that battle.

My phone chirped, and I took a deep breath, picked up the plastic stick, and let out a sigh of relief. Not pregnant. I staunchly ignored the tiny twinge of sadness that pricked my heart and reminded myself, this is what I wanted, what was best. As I ran a wash cloth over my face to try and repair some of the damage, my stomach growled, annoyed at being forgotten. Grabbing the pregnancy test, I marched out to the living room, set it on the coffee table in front of where Ranger sat, his head in his hands, before continuing to the kitchen. I was tempted to say fuck it, forgo real food, and grab the ice cream from the freezer, but stopped myself. I needed the distraction. I pulled the groceries needed to put together a simple dish from the counter and put the rest away while it simmered on the stove. As I worked, I felt my anger fade, replaced with sadness, for not only myself, but for Ranger too.

When it was ready, I dished up two bowls and carried them out to the living room, two bottles of water tucked under my arm. Ranger hadn't appeared to have moved, but I knew he had since the pregnancy test was nowhere in sight. I nudged his shoulder. "You need to eat." I set his dinner and water on the table before walking around to the chair and settling in with my own. While I focused on my food, I could see him out of the corner of my eye as he reached for his own. I nodded in response to his quietly murmured 'thanks.' The warmth and comfort of the meal chased away some of the chill that had been brought on by his earlier words. Neither of us spoke, both in our own heads, reviewing both our confessions, and processing the words that had transpired between us. We now had proof that I was, in fact, not pregnant, and I was pondering what that meant, what was next. I assumed he was doing the same.

When we'd both finished, I picked up the dishes and carried them to the kitchen, hoping the routine of after-dinner clean-up would help me think, or at least distract me. As I finished loading the dishwasher and wiping down the counter, I felt him enter the room, his presence filling the space. I turned to face him, having come to a decision. He stood on the other side of the island, hands braced on the back of one of the tall chairs. The distance was only physical, though; he hadn't closed himself off from me, wasn't trying to wall off his emotions, and the blank mask was nowhere in sight. If anything, he looked lost. I didn't know what he came into here to say, but worried it would be something stupid that would piss me off further, I decided to go first.

"In the past, there were times we could steal away from the real world: Hawaii, Disneyland, Christmases, those nights in your apartment or mine. We'd create this little cocoon where we pretended we were a couple. Then it would be over, and we'd both act like it didn't happen, like being together like that wasn't the only thing that kept us going in our day-to-day lives until it happened again." He nodded, but didn't interrupt. "That's not what this is for me, and I don't think it is for you either. If that's what you think, you're lying to yourself. This is different. This is our chance to see what's possible, what could be between us if we're honest with each other, away from Trenton, from the Burg, from our past." He didn't nod this time, but he didn't protest either. I pushed on, afraid I'd lose my nerve. "I'm done hiding what I want, letting you decide what's best for me, for both of us." I pulled away from where I was bracing myself against the counter and moved to stand in front of him.

Taking his hands in mine, I looked up, begging him to hear me. "What I want is you." I smiled at him. "I know you're not a superhero. You're a man with flaws and a dark side, with secrets you can never share, and scars deeper than most. And I want you anyway. I want you to stop thinking you're some renegade, a monster, a machine, not worthy of anyone's love. It's okay to need somebody, to need me. I'm willing to help you carry your baggage, god knows you've been dealing with mine since we met." The look in his eyes was hard to read. I could see the love he had for me there, I just hoped it was enough to overcome his fears.

I took a deep breath and laid it out for him. "I can't settle for that anymore, for the stolen moments, the vacations from reality. I want you in my life, every day, fully, as my partner. Ring, or no ring, I want you, I want us." I sighed, knowing I was going out on a limb, a shaky one at that. "I don't know what's truly holding you back. I think you know what you want, it's telling if you'd want to be together if I were pregnant, as if that's what you need to permit yourself to be in a relationship with me, to change your plans." I cupped his jaw, praying I wasn't making a colossal mistake. I didn't want to force his hand, but I couldn't keep going on like this, living in limbo. "I don't know anymore if it's really your anxiety keeping you from giving me everything, or do you just not want to? I need you to get your shit together so I can love you. If you can't do that, I need you to walk away, for good."

By the time I'd finished, his eyes were closed, and they stayed that way long enough that I worried I had said and asked for too much. I pulled my hand away and turned, hoping to hide in my bathroom while he packed his things and walked out the door and out of my life. Before I took a step, he had me by the wrist and had spun me back to him. His eyes were intense. "I knew from the first time I saw you that I wanted your body. I became your mentor, then friend, and when I finally kissed you, I knew it was going to screw me up forever." He took my face in his hands. "You got under my skin, past my defenses, and I didn't know what to do about it, so I didn't do anything." Closing his eyes, he leaned down, resting his forehead against mine before confessing, "Being with you is unlike anything I've ever known; I never knew that I could feel that much, and it scares the shit out of me." He swallowed, then pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, his mouth just a hair's breadth away from mine. "I don't know how to do this, if I can do this, but I can't walk away. I don't want to hurt you, and if I leave now, not knowing what could be, I'll do that anyway, so this is me trying."

Before I could even process what he'd said, he kissed me hard, demanding everything from me, giving me the same in return. The want, the heat of it was familiar, but I knew in that instant, everything had changed.