title from "the planets bend between us" by snow patrol.

tag to rocket man.

This was his idea, you think, building this little machine to give to the team for getting him through his first (and you hope to God last) undercover Op. You've been sitting less than a foot away from him for nearly two hours now, and you still aren't convinced that you managed to rescue him in time. Your mind plays all sorts of tricks on you, and this wouldn't be the first time everything was flipped upside down.

"This is gonna be so cool."

You can feel the familiarity of the closeness settling between the two of you, but there's an underlying tension that wasn't there before. (Real or not real, you think, but this is ridiculous, of course this is real). He could've died. He could've died, but he's right next to you, he's okay, he's alive. And even when you're smiling at him (he's so perfect and you just can't help yourself, he looks so happy), it doesn't quite reach your eyes. What if he's not really okay? What if something's still bothering him? He almost died.

"Initiate countdown."

Your voice betrays nothing, but there's a pressure growing in your chest and it's crushing your lungs, you can't breathe, but your smile stays strong. He could've died, and you might never have been so close to him again. You have to remind yourself that he's only your partner, you would've lost your partner and your best friend and you don't want to think about this but you can't stop.

How could you, when he's right here and he's shining like this moment is everything he's ever been moving towards. Like being here with you right now is all that could ever matter to him. There's no way this isn't real, you think, this has to be real.

"Initiating countdown."

You can hear his seventy-two bpm vibrating in the air, in his growing smile, and his breath tickles the side of your neck. He's breathing, Nell. You probably should too.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

"Ten."

It's now that you notice how close his left hand is to your right hand. You can feel the heat radiating off of it, and you think of how scared he must have been. Almost as scared as you were. And if you were to just reach out right now, you could touch him, and know that this isn't going to disappear.

You don't want him to disappear.

"Nine."

His eyes roam over the small hovercraft, searching for any last minute operational flaws, and what would you be doing right now without him? You have a vague idea, and instantly you flush the thought out of your mind. You need to get yourself under control, he's probably fine, and he probably doesn't even notice your proximity, because it doesn't matter. He's alive, that's all that matters.

"Eight."

You're trying your hardest to not look at him (you can't let him see you like this, he can't know how terrified you were) but you can just see him. His jaw is set in the way it is when he's so focused, and his eyes flicker from one place to another, like he's dreaming but he's awake. And his lips are slightly parted, like he's about to speak but he doesn't. Silently, you hope that he'll just say something, anything, please, you just need to hear his voice.

"Seven."

Finally, you turn your eyes towards his and that voice is the softest lullaby, until it shifts and suddenly you feel like you've lost your footing. (It's low and rougher than usual and distracted and what could possibly be distracting him, you're the only one here). His eyes are glued to yours and your stomach flips and no, you can't do this, not with him, you need to get your emotions in check before you do something stupid.

Because he's still smiling but his eyes are a broken shade of blue, and you can't lose him, he almost died and you almost lost him, and you can't just let this go.

"Six."

His is voice is so low that it's barely audible anymore and he's staring at you like he's afraid of whatever's showing itself on your face. (Finally, the smiles fade). And you're terrified. You have no idea where you're standing, the silence is smothering you and when did he get so close? This is wrong, you need space, distance, you're too close to see this clearly.

"Five."

But he's barely gotten the next number out when his lips are a gentle pressure against yours and he's alive. He's warm and breathing and alive. Slowly, tentatively, your hands find his chest, one settling over his heart (seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five) and the other winding around his neck. You shouldn't be doing this.

Four.

You aren't sure how this started, but it doesn't matter, and you still keep count of the descending numbers in the back of your mind because you need something you can control. His palms trace down your sides and you shiver when he pulls your body in to his. You can feel his blood rushing through his veins, his heartbeat pounding in his chest, and he's alive, you think, he's right here and he's alive and maybe you need this (need him) more than you could ever actually admit to anyone. Even yourself.

Three.

You press your lips more urgently onto his, because you need to be sure, and his arms tighten around you like he knows, he could've died but he didn't. You saved him, you got to Sam and Callen in time to get him out, and you saved his life. (You can't bring yourself to think of what's going to happen when you run out of numbers, but you need this right now and so does he and this is just a closure thing, really, this doesn't mean anything even though it means everything).

You're trying your hardest to not enjoy how it feels to be nestled in his arms like this is normal, but it's difficult, and you have to remember that when this ends, it ends, and it's never going to happen again. And you're okay with that, you swear you're okay with it.

Two.

There are heavy tears building behind your eyes for reasons you can't explain. Almost like he can feel it, he begins tracing little patterns on your back, and you can't think anymore. You're so tired of thinking. This is you, and him, and stop thinking of the consequences, Nell, just enjoy yourself.

(His lips are softer than you thought they'd be, and you hadn't realized that you've thought about that before, and he's so gentle with you, like you're fragile and he wouldn't be able to stand breaking you, and if you could read his mind, you'd know that this is more than him being thankful that you saved his life. And he wishes that he could regret this, but he doesn't).

Eventually, the time is going to run out and all you know is that you want to be able to kiss him like this all the time, whenever you want, wherever you want. But you can't. Hesitantly, you break your lips from his, taking in a shaky breath, and he brushes a soft kiss against your jawline just as you whisper "One."

His eyes (the bluest blue now, the most alive) bear into yours with a defeated kind of intensity, but he still takes a slow step back. He looks like he desperately wants to say something, but he doesn't, or maybe he just can't. Inhaling in measures, he picks up the hovercraft controls and makes his way out of Ops, leaving you in solitude.

You lean back against the island, frowning as you touch your fingers to your lips (you can still feel his there and this isn't going to be good for you, you know). Just friends don't do things like this and neither do partners. But this is a one time thing, this was under special circumstances, and while it may not have been the most conventional way to fix things, it did, right?

You know you aren't crazy, he's okay, or at least he's going to be, and he probably just has some kind of post-traumatic stress but he should be alright now. (He's alright now, he has to be, but there's no way to know unless you ask but that's exactly what you don't want to do - talk about it. Talking about it makes it real and you wish it wasn't but then this would've been for nothing and it would mean... more than it does).

Five minutes later, he's back, and you haven't moved. Before he has the chance to ask (to say what you know he's going to say, what he can't bring into the equation without turning you into a liar), you mutter "I was just... I'm glad you're alive, Eric."

And he doesn't reply, not verbally, but he knows that there's so much more to those words than you would ever say out loud.

"And I, umm... thank you, Nell." he whispers, and when you look up at him, there's so much honesty written all over his face. You aren't sure exactly what he's thanking you for, for being there when the chamber closed, for being here now, for knowing which things need to be discussed and which things don't. It doesn't matter. "I was thinking, maybe, if you're not busy... I could use some company..."

He gives you one of those gorgeous half-smiles and you're a goner.

"Back to the Future?" you ask quietly, trying not to smile back and failing. It's one of your favorite movies, really, and one of his too, and some of your fondest memories are of watching it with him after long days at work (days when children are almost slaughtered and team members take bullets and days like today when everything doesn't seem worth it) and really, anything about spending any amount of time with him sounds welcoming right now.

"Only if you quote every single line," he grins, "and Oreos, if you're lucky."

(Quietly, you think that you're lucky anyway, but you only nod, still smiling up at him like it's the only thing in the world you can do. And when he shyly extends his hand to you, you take it, and you know that both of you are going to be alright).