I storm out of the fire station more aggressively than I intend. I don't stop to talk to anyone, but I hear Abby yelling about giving Holtz plenty of second chances. As if. As far as I can see, Holtz is some kind of crazy maniac evil bitch wizard, and I have no interest in being strung along anymore.

Four months later…

I step out of my apartment building to a bright, cloudless day and find her waiting outside for me. She's leaning against Ecto-1, whistling nonchalantly, hands deep in the pockets of her high-waisted, wide-legged pants. Even after all this time the sight of her is like a punch to the stomach.

"Go away, Holtz."

"I just came to say-"

"I don't have any interest in what you have to say."

"But I've got a lot-"

"Still not interested." I descend the stairs and push past her. "Can you leave please?"

"Where are you going?"

"To the library," I reply, striding down the street. Holtz follows me all the way there.

"Can you talk to me here? They won't let me in there anymore," she explains when we arrive.

"Good," I reply, and push open the doors.

When I leave the library, she's still there, leaning against the wall. I head on home, ridiculously aware of her following me. I finally reach my apartment building, and turn around, giving up.

She walks towards me slowly, and a lump forms in my throat. I want to run, but her gaze keeps me rooted to the bottom step, clutching my purse in front of me like a shield. "Come here often?" I ask jokingly, trying for insouciance, but the quiver in my voice gives me away.

"How are ya, kid?" She asks, reaching out to tousle my hair, but stopping mid-movement.

"I'm fine. Same old." I can barely bring myself to look at her.

"No ghosts?"

"No ghosts."

"Sure about that?"

"Pretty sure." We stand there awkwardly for a silent few minutes.

"Maybe I should come in and check? Might as well give you a free consult while I'm here..." She scratches her head and looks away from me.

I bite my lip, considering. I really don't want her in my home, don't want to associate any part of it with her again. It's easier, keeping her - and thoughts of her - at a distance. But now she's right in front of me, so close to me for the first time in months, and all I want is to be near her. I climb back up the steps and unlock the door. "Come on in, Holtz."

She follows me through to the kitchen, and pulls herself up onto the counter. I grab a glass and prep it with ice and a straw before filling it with soda and handing it to her. She takes a deep, appreciative slurp, then grins at me around the straw clutched in her teeth. "Why're you here, Holtz?" I ask directly.

"I was around, in the neighbourhood, as they say," she replies, tapping her fingers against the glass.

"How long were you waiting?"

Holtz glances down at her watch. "One hour and forty-two… no wait, forty-three minutes." She peeks at me from under her eyelashes.

"Why are you here, Holtz?" I ask again.

"I… uh. Oh hell. I was… I-I thought. I-I missed you."

I slump against the fridge. "Holtz, you can't just turn up here like this for no reason. If you want to talk to me, call me. That's what phones are for."

"I'm not here for no reason," she purrs, jumping down off of the counter and pressing me against the fridge. I suck in my breath at her proximity, as she tilts my chin with her finger. Her lips brush mine for an instant, her eyes all mischief, before I regain my senses and push her away.

"No! I am not playing this hot-and-cold game with you again… I had enough of this from you the last time!" I slip out from between her arms and stride across the kitchen to put some much-needed distance between us.

She drops her eyes, chewing on a fingernail. "I'm not playing any… I don't mean to be "hot-and-cold". I just thought maybe that we could re-think, at least I re-thought, how we left things…" she trails off, still not meeting my gaze.

I can't believe she's doing this again – pulling me in just so that she can push me away. Her being here, it's re-opening all the old wounds, reminding me of how much it hurt the last time she let me walk away from her. But now she's here, larger than life in my kitchen, as awkward and manic and beautiful as I've ever seen her and it's making me hopeful, and I have to talk myself down from falling for it, for her, again, when I know so much better. I swallow hard. "Holtz, I told you that if you let me leave, that was it for us. And you did let me leave, and it's been four months, and now you're here – no phone call, nothing, for months – what are you thinking?!"

She suddenly seems so small, and when she replies, her voice is quiet and monotone. "I'm thinking that maybe I made a mistake. Probably a big mistake. I… oh jeez," she swallows hard and seems to sink into herself. "I can't see how people do this thing where they trust themselves to somebody else because I never trust myself to somebody else, but I know now that I can have friends and that is, based on the evidence, an indisputably good thing. And if I can have friends, then perhaps the possibility of having something, something more, is worth the risk. And I know I hurt you. I'm sorry that I hurt you. But I wanted to test my hypothesis that if pushed, you would go. And you did go, which hurt me too." She takes a deep breath, still staring at the floor and refusing to look at me. "But Abby said that-that you have to trust people. Not to hurt you. And hurting people to test them is not how this works. So I came here to say-to say- that I want to trust you. And I want you to trust me too. Because I think that maybe we – as in you and me- could have something that is good." She flicks her eyes at me, biting her lip, and her words are like warm honey trickling through me as I realise that this just might be the closest that I get to a declaration of love from the inscrutable, infuriating, Dr Jillian Holtzmann.

"Holtz," I sigh, melting internally, and in a few short strides she's pressed against me again and her mouth is on mine and I can't, no matter how hard I try, my fingers laced in her hair, her hands on my hips pulling me closer, I just can't get enough of her. She tastes like soda and cinnamon, and that scent - her scent - is all around me, intoxicating me, and those four months just slip away, and all I want is her, all of her.

Her thigh pushes between my legs, hiking my skirt up around my hips. For the first time she's as receptive to this as I am, groaning against my lips as I pull on her hair.

We slide to the floor, and she's yanking off my shirt, her teeth gently closing around my nipple through my bra, and I'm aware that I'm whimpering giddy with relief that I have her back. She trails kisses up and down my neck, her tongue teasing its way along my skin, and I pull off her heavy leather jacket. I'm fumbling with the buttons of her waistcoat, irritated with her layers, and she laughs as I yank it off in frustrations. I'm confronted with a t-shirt, and sigh at her as I yank it over her head.

"Did you need this many layers? Really?" I complain as I unhook her bra. She moves to cover herself, and I push her hands out of the way, She lets out a whimper as my hands cup her breasts, my thumbs stroking over her swollen nipples. I move my lips over her breast, my tongue flicking her nipple as I reach down to unbutton her pants with one hand as her hand works its way up under my skirt. She finds the source of my wetness, and I'm moaning as I work my fingers into her and she bucks against my hand. I push my thumb up against her, stroking her in a steady rhythm as she strokes me, and the sound of her crying out against my neck is all it takes to send me over the edge.

We stare at each other, clothes in disarray, breathing heavily. "Well, that was worth waiting for," she sighs with a grin, and she's never looked more beautiful, flushed and sweating on the floor of my kitchen.

"I'm not done with you yet," I growl, dragging her by the hand off to my bedroom.

Later that night, when I'm sure she's asleep, I drop a kiss on her forehead. "I love you, Dr Holtzmann," I whisper. I feel her hand close around mine.

"I love you too, jellybean."