AN: Episode reaction to 5x21, "The Squab and the Quail."

Never Tear Us Apart

She can't stop crying.

She's trying, she really is, but as the days' tensions leaves her body, extracted by each knowing, expert press of his hands into her muscles, the tears just won't stop running, a quiet deluge that she hides with her face smushed into the pillow.

God he's just so good at this, knows just how to touch her, knows her body so well, every curve and knot and sensitive spot - but that's never been the issue, has it? Once they were ignited - even long before, if she's honest with herself - they burned hot and fast and all-consuming, and somewhere along the way, talking became secondary. They just... were.

When did it stop feeling like it was enough?

She's overreacting, isn't she? She tries to breathe deeply, tries to calm her silent sobs, feels ridiculous. Just because some handsome, accent-wielding billionaire posed a poignant question... She berates herself for her thoughts, concentrates on his touch instead, on his fingers digging deep into her muscles, loosening the knots by her shoulder blades that he knows always bother her and she groans in relief.

This here, this is what they have together, the beauty of this intimacy, the deep-seated belief in each other, their history that binds them but the truth is, she's scared, she's so scared. She's invested so much of herself, all of herself in this relationship; she went all in, and if she lost him, it'd be devastating. She's not sure she'd survive it this time. She always fears she might lose him, to a bullet tearing through his heart or the sharpened edge of a knife blade - but death by relationship rut has never even occurred to her.

And maybe, maybe it's where they both went wrong. Not talking, just assuming the other wasn't ready? She thought she'd been free with him, showing him openly what she felt but for years she'd been hiding behind these walls she'd erected, skittish about moving forward while he waited for her, having only hope and his belief in magic to cling to. Maybe it's still haunting him too? Maybe he needs more of her words just as much as she is craving his?

Maybe he's just as scared. Of the future, of failing, of falling apart.

His fingers glide to the small of her back, thumbs digging right and left of her tailbone and she seems to sink deeper into the mattress, her body heavy with bone-deep exhaustion. Stubborn tears still cling to her eyelashes but she turns when he directs her to, hoping he won't notice.

She settles onto her back as he starts kneading her feet, then the muscles of her calves. When he runs up her thighs, fingertips grazing the tender skin of her inner thigh her hips surge up toward him, her eyelids fluttering closed as she reaches for him, seeking him with sudden, desperate need. He runs one finger between her legs and she rises toward his touch, her back arching, her fingers clawing into his shirt to pull him up and over her.

He settles between her legs, elbows bracketing her head as his fingers grip into her hair. He kisses her closed eyelids, her cheeks, sipping the salty trails off her skin and when she blinks open her eyes, she finds knowledge in his. Sees how it gets to him, worry and anxiety swirling together with the intensity of their feelings, almost overwhelming in their strength.

Finally letting her see again what he's still so apt at hiding.

She holds his gaze as he joins their bodies, folds her legs high around his waist; her hips coming up to feel more of him, all of him. Eyes open, mouths brushing in breathless kisses as he fills her, consumes her, as she clings to this perfect moment where they become one, where she feels invincible, as if nothing could ever hurt them, nothing could ever tear them apart.