A/N: Quick thing I wrote the other day. Don't worry, I'll update What if we'd met someplace else? on Sunday, and Sirens too. I just had to write something.

This has heat, yeah, but I've been writing fluff and history/injury so I had to meet it someplace in the middle.

Disclaimer: this has heat. Something lacking in this frickin' cold country.

They have a pretty big fight one day.

Profanity is hurled, obscenities thrown, hands curled into un-punched fists.

In the end, he storms into the elevator and punches the wall. His hand bleeds and is broken. He doesn't care.

After that, it's not the same. There's no talk between them; no spark. No 'pah'.

It gets unbearable and he punches the elevator doors, as opposed to the wall this time. The sickening crack tells him two things.
He's broken his hand. Again.
He should stop punching metal. Again.

She comes round to his apartment with an unknown intention, and he only just stops himself from yelling.

She asks what went wrong between them.

He scoffs, saying there never was a 'them' to begin with.

She's about to storm out, teary-eyed, when he blocks her path and grabs each of her wrists with his healed hands.

He backs her up against a wall, seething with intent and burning with anger, but the terrified look in her eyes ensures that dissipates.

Her eyes flit to his lips momentarily, and all other feelings melt away as he sees it. Their lips meet gently at first, then violently, then desperately. Then wonderfully.

He releases his grip on her arms to run his fingers through her hair at the gentle stage. His hands tumble through the strands at the violent stage. The locks scrunch as he balls them up in his palms at the desperate stage. His hands have abandoned her hair and progressed to her skin at the wonderful stage.

Clothing is shed, along with inhibitions and common sense, and they stumble to his room without leaving each other's arms.

The weekend passes slowly but all-too-quickly, and despite being with her throughout both days, she leaves on Sunday evening before he would have liked.

When he sees her at work they still don't talk, partially to keep up appearances and partially to avoid any funny business right there in the bullpen. She doesn't go back to her apartment at the end of the day, though.

Profanity is hurled, obscenities thrown, hands curled into un-punched fists.

But out of ecstasy, extreme bliss, and wonderful, wonderful, release.

A/N2: Please review!