Here we go, hope you enjoy this one too! I'm bringing in the angst for a while, please accept my apologies :)

This is for kamarooka, who's the only one reassuring me I'm not sending this all into thin air! Leave me a few words, people, if you enjoy. Or if you hate it. Either. I want to hear what you think.

When Claire wakes, she's alone between the pillows, and she smiles slightly to herself as she imagines Owen in the kitchen putting the coffee pot on or something, but when he doesn't come back into the room in a while she ventures out, tucking her robe around her, her nudity suddenly cold. He's not in the house, and he's not left so much as a note, and something doesn't sit right, but she doesn't think too much on it. She has some applications for storefront shops to trawl through and consider, and she supposes she'll do that to kill the time until Owen gets back from wherever he's gone.

He doesn't get in until late that evening, in the end, and she looks up as he walks through the door, expecting something to feel different. It doesn't, and with hindsight she'll realise that's because last night hasn't really changed a lot, has just culminated feelings that were already brewing, but in the moment it stalls her, and she doesn't say anything, for a moment. He smiles at her, seemingly half-heartedly, and pours himself a glass of water.

"I'm going to bed. I'm tired and I've got an early start in the morning. See you tomorrow evening, probably."

She has a thousand things to say in response to that, so many questions as to where he's been all day, why he let her wake up alone, when they're going to talk about it. She wants to sit beside him and smile and blush and tell him she spent almost an hour this morning cleaning the couch and reordering the coffee table at one end, and she wants to look up at him through hooded eyes and tell him she's aching in all the right places, she feels simultaneously exhausted and almost insatiably eager for more. But everything's happening so fast, and this is all so sudden, she doesn't say anything.

"Night." She gives him a little smile of her own, and watches him walk into his own bedroom, not quite meeting her gaze.

He doesn't bring it up, and neither of them go to repeat it, and although he's not quite stand-offish with her, there's something not quite right. Their friendship doesn't flow with quite the ease it once did, but after a week or two they start laughing again, she feels comfortable, it's almost as if nothing happened.

Claire has a deep, underlying sense of unease. The only conclusion she can draw is that he thought better of it the following day, and is hoping that in not mentioning it the whole concept will fade. But she doesn't feel she can let it fade, she still has vivid memories, often sudden and unexpected, of his mouth between her thighs, his body aligned with hers, the weight of him pressing her into the cushions of the couch, and the only feeling she had as she curled into his side and drifted off that night - how good it had been and how much she wanted it to happen again. But it's almost like he put a brick wall up sometime before her awakening the following morning, and there's no way for her to cross, climb or get around it. The thoughts knot themselves in her stomach, and she distances herself from him, slightly, too. She needs to condition herself to not remember him like that, to not want him, and certainly not to need him.

After a particularly terrible day at work, she comes home to Owen crashed out on the couch, beer in hand and football blaring in the background, and all of a sudden, something's got to give. She switches the television off at the wall, and as he makes a noise of protestation, takes the beer from his hand and sets it on the countertop, out of reach. He sits up, suddenly looking slightly sheepish, and she folds her arms.

"Is this about that whites wash I was supposed to put on yesterday morning? I meant to, I'm sorry, I-"

She gives him an acid stare. "No, Owen. This is nothing to do with a whites wash."

He swallows, but doesn't say anything, reading something in her eyes that doesn't encourage him.

"Are we ever going to talk about what happened?"

He swallows again, and still remains silent.

"Are we ever going to talk about where we were, afterwards, what happened? I realise you regret it, but I-"

He laughs slightly, eyes suddenly looking tired. "Believe me, Claire, I regret nothing…"

She frowns. "Then why did you… why aren't we talking about it? Why are we acting like nothing happened when everything happened and I can't stop-" she looks toward the window, almost as if she's in pain.

He looks down, as if ashamed. "I thought you'd want to pretend nothing happened?"

"What?" she spins, eyes fiery. "You were the one that left me to wake up alone, you were the one that left the house for hours that day without telling me where you were going, you were the one that…" she trails off, frowning.

"You don't want me, Claire, I'm nothing like what you need. I… I… you deserve someone who's not going to drive you mad all the time, someone like you. Someone from the same world. We… both times anything's happened between us was in a high stress situation, you needed someone, anyone… and that's just who I am, I'm just anyone…"

She looks out the window pointedly, and then, when she looks at him again, she looks like there's something of disgust in her face.

"You think that's what I'm like?" She sounds hurt, more than anything.

"I didn't mean…" he heaves a frustrated sigh. "God, you're infuriating-"

"I'm infuriating? I'm the one who-"

He holds up a hand, and she stops for a moment, shocked at his seeming attempt to silence her. "I'm trying to be the one that steps away here, means you don't have to tell me I was just the one who was there when you needed someone, I'm admitting to myself I'm not the guy for you, I mean the sex was great; sometimes you just have needs, I get that, and I was there…"

She raises her eyes, runs a hand through her hair. "You drive me mad…"

He gives her a small, defeated smile. "Exactly. I'm never going to not be me, I'm never not going to be the guy that drives you crazy… I love you enough to step back and let you find someone who's perfect, someone who makes you happy."

"What?" her face loses all its colour, and she takes a tiny, almost imperceptible step back. "One minute you reckon we're just a notch on each other's bedposts, and next you're saying something like that…"

He swallows, replaying his words in his head and feeling slightly nauseous. He had not meant to tell her that.

"Forget I said it. What I mean is-"

She shakes her head and looks down, like she can't meet his eyes. "You can't say something like that and take it back. I… don't I get to decide what I want? This perfect guy you're inventing for me… what if I told you I choose you? I'm… safe when I'm with you, I've needed you here all this time, I don't think I would have managed well on my own, after everything… Yeah, you used to drive me mad, you still do, most of the time… but that other little bit of time I find I can't imagine not having you here…"

He sighs, but his face softens somewhat. "But what if it's not always like that? What if you're still finding your way back from everything that happened, what if when everything's sorted you'll look back on this and realise I was just the protector, the safe guy, I was just the guy that ran from that thing with you, and it never meant anything…"

She meets his eyes then, and the tears start trickling down her cheeks. "I think it meant something before it even was anything, Owen. I think… maybe we're no good on paper, maybe it doesn't make any sense that we should be together… but maybe it's the other way round from what you're thinking. Maybe because we work under pressure, maybe because we pulled together when everything else was falling apart… maybe that means for some unknown reason, we could hold."

He takes a tentative step towards her, taking a deep breath. She's still crying. He reaches out, shaking slightly, and puts his palm against her cheek.

"You think?"

She sniffs, and gives him a tiny smile through her tears. "I don't know, not really. And I'm terrified. But I guess we could go on being terrified together."

He runs his thumb ever so gently over her cheek. "You sure?"

She shakes her head at him, laughing through her tears. "One minute you tell me you love me, the next minute you don't seem to want to be with me-"

"I do. I just want to make sure you're sure. I want you to be happy."

She tilts her forehead, leaning it against his. "I'm surer about this than I've been about anything in a long time, Owen. I don't know why, really, and I'm not sure it's the safest decision I could make… but I think… I think I've found I can't imagine my life without you in it anymore…"

There's something darker in his eyes now, and he sounds breathy. "I'm not going anywhere."

With that, his lips crash against hers. It's somewhere between the desperation of the first time and the comforting of the last time, but there's something else, too, something she suspects might be love. Suddenly, his hands are snaking down the front of her shirt, and his whole body's pressed against hers, and her breath hitches. She doesn't think could ever tire of this, of him. Gasping, she lets him take her by the hand and lead her through to her bedroom.

Almost reverently, he presses her into the pillows. And then his tongue's snaking along her collarbone and neither of them have as many clothes on as they had moments ago and she stops even thinking.

Exhausted, spent, she curls herself around him, propping her head up with her chin on his shoulder. He looks almost more exhausted, and she smiles.

"Stay." She breathes, blushing a little and sliding her arm across his torso.

"I'm not going anywhere." He has one arm behind his head, and with the other hand he traces circles on her lower back. "Sleep. I promise I'll be here in the morning."

She presses her lips against his shoulder, and closes her eyes.

A long time later, when his breathing slows, she whispers, eyes still closed and arms still around him.

"I love you too."

The corner of his mouth turns up slightly.

The next morning, when Claire wakes, Owen's snoring lightly. She finds a tiny uncontrollable smile on her lips, and she attempts, albeit futilely, to roll him. However gently she nudges him, the snoring ceases and he cracks an eye open.

"I though you wanted me to stay. And now you're trying to push me out of bed…" he murmurs, sleep still thick in his voice. She meets his eyes, her smile widening.

"You were snoring."

He raises an eyebrow. "Not me. I never snore." He cranes forward and pushes his lips against hers. "Morning."

She sighs, leaning her forehead against his cheek. "Morning." His fingers run, ever so lightly, through her hair.

She rolls into him a little more, sliding her leg between his. She feels him swallow, she feels the beginning of his reaction to her. This time when his lips come down to hers, there's more fire behind them. Suddenly she feels his other hand on her hip, and he's pulling her closer.

He pulls back, breathless, and leans his head against hers. "I've just woken up, woman. Give me a chance."

She chuckles, and it sounds so free and fresh and easy his heart swells a little.

"I'm not afraid anymore…"

That's a wrap! Hope you enjoyed, I would love to hear from you, just to know what you thought, in as few words as you want!