A faint flicker of lightning caressed the room then, followed idly by the undulating rumble of subdued thunder, growling in defeat as the last gasps of the storm ebbed and abated, lazily drifting on from the saturated city below. The rhythmic pulse of rain against windows slackened as the wind dropped and the air stilled, transforming the constant cadence of falling drops to a lilting drizzle, teasing the glass and trickling along the panes, anointing them with the promise of gradual cessation.

His head pulled back as he felt her body react to the change in sound, nose leaving the skin of her neck and eyes watching, rapt, as she shifted beneath him, expanding unconsciously to fill the newfound vacuum of noise, limbs stretching taut, flexing against the stillness around them before easing and settling back into the warm depths of the bed, nestling further, languidly content.

From this vantage point, he could clearly sketch the faint outlines of her lean muscles as they lengthened beneath smooth skin, could easily trace the exquisite lines along biceps, shoulders, and upper back, every loose contour laced with the promise of strength, every indolent curve thrumming with potential energy. Just like the first time he'd laid eyes on this portion of her body.

He had thought her dead that night, believed her killed in the explosion, had watched in disbelief as the flames roiled and raged, brutally annihilating all in their path and wrenching his heart with a pain he had never before experienced. He had been certain that he was too late, certain that she was gone, snuffed out, destroyed in that single terrifying blink of an eye. The yawning absence of her had swallowed him whole, consuming him entirely. And when he had heard her strained coughs and gasps for air over the roaring blaze, had seen the rising glide of her long fingers and the sudden crowning of her soot-streaked hair from over the rim of the tub, he had been jump-started back to being, safely delivered and joyously reborn right alongside her.

Not a stitch of clothing had separated her from his gaze that night, much to her surprised, annoyed, and utterly endearing dismay. But while she had fretted so anxiously – and ludicrously, given the state of her fire-bombed and still-burning apartment – over the absence of a physical barrier between them, he had rejoiced, not in the nakedness of her body, but in the life of it, in the beautiful movement of her intact muscles, in the vital slide of her unbroken skin, in the resolute survival of her tenacious spirit and indestructible soul. He had realized that night, more clearly than ever before, how potent she was. How enduring. A sheer force of nature.

With the slackening of the storm outside, the steady sound of her breathing became more apparent, filling his ears, her body rising as she inhaled, lungs expanding fully before contracting and falling, each exhalation ghosting past soft lips.

The whisper of it broke his reverie, and his right hand rose once more as he finally allowed himself to touch her skin, feather-light, fingers starting at the small of her back and skimming their way up, enthralled as her body responded, even in sleep, to his caress. Her muscles quivered along the path he traced, then arched under his palm as he splayed it briefly across her skin, relishing the softness and warmth of her before continuing on. His fingers tripped gently up her vertebrae then tenderly traced the curve of her scapula, avoiding any hint of pressure, all too aware of the damage she'd been done.

His thoughts clouded at the memory of the bruises he couldn't see, invisible now in the darkness of the room but starkly emblazoned upon the canvas of his mind. They bled across her honey skin in inky swirls and striations, enveloping her curves at knees, shoulders and neck, blooming wide across stomach and hips. Testaments to the crucible she'd endured. His heart compressed, just as it had when he'd first peeled away her clothing and initially exposed them, scant hours before.

He'd been shocked at the vibrant blues and blacks staining her body, had listened in silence, jaw clenched and muscles trembling, as she relived her fight with Maddox and her near plunge from the roof. Her quiet reassurances had done little to halt the ripping explosion of bitter guilt and panic in his chest, and he knew he'd feel it again and again, knew that every time the marks claimed his eyes over the next days and weeks – and probably long after that, when they'd already faded away to nothingness – he'd be filled with agonizing blame and regret, wondering if he could have prevented it all by standing firm, if he could have protected her by simply staying at her side.

But if he had stayed at her side, would she be here at his now?

He let loose a deep sigh as his hand left her shoulders to slide up the slim length of her neck, fingers carding through her silky hair, allowing it to slip slowly loose, strand by strand, struggling to release his doubts and fears in the same way. There was no point in second-guessing his choices of the past seventy-two hours. Nor in second-guessing hers. What was done was done. And everything had led to right here. To them, safe and alive and together.

He dropped a gentle kiss to her shoulder, smiling into her skin as she shivered slightly and instinctively snuggled closer to the press of him. Snuggled. Kate Beckett was a snuggler. Oh, he was going to have so much fun with that…

His mouth was on her now, and he was utterly incapable of removing it. His eyes drifted closed as he kissed her body again, parting his lips and tasting her with the soft stroke of his tongue, completely aware that he was rekindling the desire he'd fought just moments ago to suppress but forgetting entirely why he'd tried to suppress it in the first place. She murmured then, something too faint to make out, and his heart stuttered as he felt her breath cascade past his ear and skirl down his neck, inflaming him with its whispery warmth.

He had dreamed of being this close to her for so long, had desired every part of her so intensely, so deeply and profoundly that it had altered who he was, altered every facet of him. Gone was the shallow playboy. Gone was the arrogant jackass. Gone was the womanizing philanderer. Those parts of him had been cast off, stripped away, removed and discarded to make room for the man he was now. The man she had chosen.

He hesitated one instant longer, then succumbed to pure need. His left arm settled over her, covering her back as he leaned in, his chest sliding home against her side, hard planes melding perfectly against soft curves. He reveled in the sensation as her entire length pressed flush with his, her slender body fitting perfectly within his solid frame. His right hand nestled into the curve of her right shoulder, fingers brushing along her clavicle and thumb riding her neck as he drew her towards him, smiling at the unconscious acceptance of her body to his pull, her hips and shoulders uncoiling, twisting perpendicular to the bed as they aligned with his, her left arm sliding down the sheet between them until her elbow tucked in securely against his naval, her fingers now cupping the pillow at her cheek.

He felt her breathing shift at their change in position, knew he'd disturbed the calm soundness of her sleep with his soft insistence for increased contact. He stilled once more, satisfied now that she was ensconced firmly against him, allowing her body to adjust and relax, sensed the tightening of her muscles against his own before they slackened, slipping and conforming, melting deeper into his.

Their postures mirrored one another, faces even, breath mingling, and it only took the slightest dip of his chin to join their warm foreheads together. His eyes traced the line of her nose, the curve of her lips, and the sharp angle of her cheekbones, watching the slight flutter of her dark lashes against smooth skin, unable to see the eyes beneath but not needing to, already wholly familiar with their essence, their fire, their force.

They had always spoken volumes with their eyes, had always connected on so many levels, creating and crafting a beautifully intricate language of looks, a language all their own. They had learned, and shared, and explored, growing with every meeting of green and blue, discovering each other more completely with each passing season through the gazes and glances and glimpses of feeling. It was an indispensable part of them, fundamental to their relationship. The way they revealed their souls in their stares, revealed truths too intense to voice and emotions too overpowering for mere words to encompass. Everything they wanted to disclose but wouldn't, everything they needed to say but couldn't, everything they yearned to tell but didn't. It was housed there, in that safe, unassailable place they had shaped together.

She still hadn't told him she loved him. Not with her words.

But as their breathing had quickened and their touches had grown urgent, as their hearts had raced in tandem and their bodies had finally, finally become one, he had stared into her green depths and read the unmistakable truth harbored within. Read it in their language. In their place. Her staggering love had been etched into every hue and swirl and fleck of her eyes. Carved down to the very core. Written there solely for him.

And it was enough. It was more than enough.

Contentment enveloped him as the sounds of the rain outside washed over him, through him, stilling his thoughts and infusing his body with the suddenly heavy pull of sleep. And he realized he was ready to succumb to it, ready to relinquish his hold on this moment, because he knew it wasn't the last, knew that they would make more, so many more. Together.

He studied her quiet features intently for one second longer then extended his neck just far enough for him to grace her lips with his own, bestowing a single, heart-stoppingly tender kiss as his eyelids floated closed and he settled in against her with a sigh, shifting deeper into the embrace and warmth of her, welcoming the approach of peaceful oblivion.

"What're you doing?"

Her soft, sleepy voice startled him, and his eyes fluttered back open, taking her in. She wasn't fully awake, was barely drifting on the near edges of consciousness. Her face was motionless, her body relaxed, her eyes closed. His last kiss must have roused her, stirred her awareness, sparking the question from her lips. He couldn't help but grin at the thought.

"Nothing," he whispered, nudging his nose gently against hers. "Just…" He paused then, searching his mind for the best answer, the truest response he could give. "Just...remembering."

She hummed low in her chest and cuddled closer, eyes remaining shut as her chin tilted forward towards the sound of his voice, her questing lips finding and meeting his lightly before murmuring yet another question. "Remembering what?"

He smiled, mind diving back into the sheer flood of memories, the cherished recollections and the intimate reminiscences, the innumerable twists and turns and trails that his various thoughts had plotted and charted and mapped throughout this endlessly infinite moment, this ethereal snapshot of always.

He leaned in slowly to kiss her again, tracing a path along the crease of her lips, heart leaping when she parted them gently, inviting him in with the warm curl of her tongue. He slid deep and savored the taste of her, drank her down until his senses were brimming, teeming, soul awash with nothing but her.

"Everything, Kate," he whispered softly against her skin. "I'm remembering everything."

I'm calling this one complete for now, although it's possible I may continue if there's a lot of interest in my doing so, or if/when I have further ideas. This piece was such a delight to write, and I truly hope you enjoyed reading it as well. If you have a spare moment to review, your opinions and insights would make my day! :)