I will keep writing intermittent thank you stories for Daalny until I see fit to stop, which will probably be never.

The lights are dimmed of the ward at the end of the day. He turns away from the last patient's bed, at last, and sees her standing there. Her figure is crisp and well-defined by the sharp lines of her blue suit; the colour is so soft in this light, so nocturnal. Her arms fold neatly at the elbows and she clasps her clipboard to her chest. She has been standing there with her eyes on him, he realises. He does not know how long for. It thrills him to wonder. Their eyes meet, and he wants to smile at her, but she is looking at him too intensely for a smile.

His heart quickens. His heart beats in his throat as he realises how she is looking at him.

She must be painfully tired, he thinks. He knows for sure that he is. Painfully tired, perhaps just painful. They see so much. Every day they see so much, and they see so much as they look at one another.

He stands rooted to the spot. He needs to take her out of this room, he thinks, why is he just standing there? He cannot move. He has to move. She is waiting for him. Her eyes say so much. Her eyes tell him that whatever he does in this moment she will accept, but some things will be easier to except than others.

He exhales as he moves. He needs to steady himself. He is standing in front of her. As carefully as he can, he takes her hand, clasping it gently. Her eyes don't leave his; it is painful to turn his head away, but he has to as he leads her carefully to the end of the ward and into the corridor. She puts her clipboard down on a table as they leave and closes the door behind them.

There is no one else here. There are duty nurses on the ward but the rest of the hospital is empty and silence, and filling up with the night. The doors are closed behind them and they are cut off from everyone else.

He looks at her again and she gives him a small smile. He returns it, and leads her to his office. They close that door too.

They seem to be constantly surrounded by mutilation and death. Alone, they are so alive and whole. Her hands are warm in his, he can feel her heartbeat as he holds her close to his body. Her eyes are shining and staring into his. He touches her face, brushes his thumbs along her cheekbones before he kisses her. Her lips are soft and warm. He groans quietly against her mouth.

"You're perfect," he whispers before he has thought about it, "You're everything. You're keeping me alive."

Gods, the truth is all coming out now, before he can stop himself. But she smiles softly, kissing him back.

"I've thought about this so often," she replies quietly, taking one of his hands in hers and resting it gently on her hip, "I've thought about us making love so many times."

He groans again, pushing her jacket off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She does the same to him too, making short work of his tie too.

"Will you let me?" he asks almost hoarsely, "Will you let me make love to you?"

"Of course," she murmurs in reply, her fingers working at the buttons of his shirt, "Richard, I want you."

"Isobel."

He has opened the front of her dress, exposing the white lace of her slip to him, burying his face in her collarbone, almost sobbing her name into her skin as she kisses her.

"I want you so much. I've wanted you for years."

"And I you."

Her dress is on the floor too. He carries her to the little bed in the corner, kissing her, before removing her corset and her slip too.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers when he sees a fleeting shyness in her gaze, "You're incredible. I adore you."

"Richard," she murmurs, "I want to see you too."

He allows her to divest him of his shirt, belt, trousers, undershorts. Allows her to run her hands all over him. Her touch is so firm and real. He captures her lips, leaning forwards, pushing her gently onto her back, making her lie down beneath him. He pulls her underwear off her carefully.

He watches her face as he touches her. Watches her face in the dim light from the window, watches the feeling flutter across her expression. It enthrals him, he can't take his eyes off her. He can't believe that this is real, that they're here like this, and he's touching her, he is making her keen with pleasure, he's making her back arch like that, he's making her pant and beg for him. Her hands fist the bedsheet as he fingers her nub.

"Please, Richard."

He sinks down to meet her, gently guiding her to bend her knees and wrap them around his middle. She acquiesces eagerly. Her flesh is so soft and smooth under his touch.

Every word she's said to him resound in his ears as he pushes inside her. Their fingers wrap together and they squeeze hard. Her head tips back and he hears a little sound come from her throat. He stays still until he feels her raising her hips up to meet him. He kisses her collarbone as he thrusts inside her.

This woman is his life. He adores her. Nothing in this time seems sacred, but this act is. If anything in his life has been sanctified it is this, these moments in the dark with her. He prays they won't be their last.

They make love so frantically and tenderly. His hands clutch at her hair. Her arms have wrapped around his back and she trails single finger up and down his spine in time to his thrusts. The sounds she makes are beautiful, he has never heard anything more erotic. He catches words among her moans; she calls him "sweetheart", she calls him "darling", she says his name over and over.

He feels her start to shake and he knows she has broken. He watches her face through her orgasm. She gives a cry and clutches him to her. Her tightening around him is all it takes and he comes too, exploding inside her.

"Darling," he pants, his breath returning slowly to a normal pace, barely propping himself up on arms that are trembling violently, "Isobel."

Her eyes open and they look at each other.

"Richard. That was-..."

"I know."

"I was so alone. And you took me-... I can't-..." words failed her, she could hardly speak for heavy breathing.

He kissed her tenderly and she responded, giving him a long, passionate kiss. His body had softened, and he left her, rolling onto his side and holding her tightly to him.

He kisses her forehead.

"Richard, I have to say-..."

He kissed her lips quickly, silencing her.

"Don't," he told her, "Not now. Tell me in the morning, if you want to, sleep now, my love."

He cradles her as she falls asleep, pushing resting his face in her hair.

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