This is a two-shot loosely based on Drive my soul by Lights.

Reviews are always appreciated and expected.

I own nothing.

He stared at the reflection in the elevator mirror, trying to remember what he had looked like the last time he was in this elevator.

He looked almost identical.

And just like then he was unshaven, hair sticking out in tuffs, clothes rumpled and creased, and with a small duffel bag full of clothing.

But this time it was due to the 5 am wakeup call to get his stuff together to catch the earliest flight out of L.A.

The elevator came to an abrupt stop and he looked at the red digital floor number before leaning back to let the elderly couple into the elevator.

The women took in his appearance and gave a soft smile which he barely returned.

He watched her turn back to her companion, intertwining her fingers into his, in which the gentlemen pulled up their hands and tenderly kissed her knuckles.

The elevator bell startled him from his thoughts.

He looked out into the hallway and recognized the painting hanging across the hall.

It was a hideous painting. It looked as if someone had taken a pitcher of paint the color of puke green and threw it at a canvas.

None the less, it was his favourite.

It reminded him of home.

Managing a small smile to couple, he left the elevator and followed the hallway to the right.

And there it was.

Apartment #1502.

The apartment that he hadn't stepped into for four years.

His empty hand reached up and ran along the dust covered crown moulding before hitting cool metal.

Pulling it down he wiped the dust off of it, realizing that it probably hadn't been touched since he walked out the door.

Moments passed as he contemplated about his decision to come back.

It wasn't too late. He could turn back now.

But no, he had to do this, for her.

The key fit. He was slightly surprised.

She had really hated him.

Taking in a deep breath he let himself in, immediately noticing the many dead flowers covering the coffee table, the foyer table, the couch.

The place was typical Jude. Unkempt.

He dropped his bag at his feet before removing his jacket and shoes, knowing that she wouldn't care but it was something he had always done. She may be careless and disorderly but he wasn't and they would never change.

He slowly crept past the kitchen, wincing at the wine bottles lined up on the windowsill, blocking the view he had once cherished every morning as he made them coffee.

He walked over to it and went up on his tippy toes.

Yep, the river was still there, the wharfs still covered in seagulls, the sun still coming down.

And there, on their bench, sat the elderly couple from the elevator enjoying the sun down while they fed the seagulls.

Life hadn't stopped but it sure felt like it.

He knew he was stalling, but there was a chance he may never see this view again and he wasn't going to let it go to waste.

He had been told that she hadn't left the penthouse in days, so he had no doubt she was still there.

If he knew Jude at all, she would be in bed, under the covers, in the same clothes since that day.

Turning back he made his way down the hall to their bedroom.

No, her bedroom.

He placed his hand on the door knob, letting it cool his sweaty hand.

Taking in a deep breath, he let himself in.

Even in the dark, he knew it was exactly the same.

Clothes covering her side of the room, guitars lined up under the large draped window, and her, a small lump under a dozen blankets, on her side of the bed.

She had always liked it sweltering under the covers, while he simple preferred a sheet or even her to keep him warm.

The lump still hadn't moved, which put a slight fear in his heart.

She wouldn't have would she?

He strode over to the bed, half panicked, half nervous.

Four years. It was along time. Maybe he didn't know her anymore. When he finally left her life, he thought he was doing her a favour. It was easier to walk away. She had made his life unbearable and he was sure that it was twice as bad for her.

She hated him. Not that he blamed her.

Het pulled the blankets back on his side of the bed, which had still been tucked under his pillows.

And before thinking twice, he pulled them all the way back, revealing the skeleton of a girl he once knew and had always loved.

The tears dripped onto her blank face, the glaze covering her eyes scaring him even more.

Not holding back anymore, he fell onto the bed beside her, pulling her into him, holding her closer then he had in a long time.

But this time it was different then all other times.

At one point her skin used to burn under his touch, sending heat through each other, causing ripples of goose bumps across each others skin.

And when it got bad, when he would reach his arm out to simply pull her back to him to continue the discussion, she would tense and jerk her arm away not allowing him the privilege he once had.

And now, it was different once again, she made no attempt to pull away and fight him and the heat didn't radiate through her but instead, she laid in his arms not fighting and not getting any closer, limp like the makeup smeared pillow next to his head.

"Jude, girl? I'm so sorry." He whispered into her ear, inhaling her hair just like he use to, but this time she didn't smell like Dove, but of alcohol and sweat.

He pulled her head back looking into her eyes, hoping she understood that she wasn't hallucinating this.

She simple stared back, her eyes closed off from him.

And he did the only thing that he thought could bring her back to life, to him.

He brought his face to hers, his lips a breath away, and he looked at her waiting for her to stop him, but she made no move to.

Slowly, he got closer, testing the waters, seeing how deep she would let him go.

He felt her breath on his lips before gently placing his on hers.

The first kiss. Her sixteenth. White lines. Don't you dare. Her eighteenth. All I want is you. The chrome cat. His body on hers. Her hot breath on his. Slick thighs. Shaky Screams. Bruised hips. Tangled sheets. The restaurant bathroom. The new apartment door. The counter top. The piano. The shower. The couch. The bench. The viper. His office. The soundboard. The elevator. The floor. The bed.

This simple kiss managed to bring forth the memories he had put away.

But this kiss was different then those. There was no urgency, no need, no passion. Just two lips connected. Smooth against chapped. Touching, not pressing.

Pulling back he looked back into her eyes, hoping the glazed over grey would turn back to his favourite shade of blue.

He watched as her eyes slowly closed, and his heart stopped, before reopening them, and his heart jump started.

She blinked away the varnish covering her eyes, and he felt her body heat up like it use to.

He leaned back, pulling her on top of him and holding her close.

He felt her body shiver and shake and the wet splats of salt and water hit his neck.

He held her tighter as she sobbed for her lose and for her gain.

Sadie had called him that morning, informing him Stuart had passed away suddenly the week before and Jude was not willing to talk to anyone, let alone get out of bed.

It wasn't the first time she had called begging him to come back, back to Jude and he always answered that she was better off without him. But this time he heard the fear in her voice and the least he could do was talk to Jude but he had doubted she even wanted to look at him.

Seeing her like this he finalized realized that she had been falling apart way before the week previous.

Glancing down he noticed his old shirt and boxers that had disappeared during the move.

Relief flooded him, knowing he was still in her heart even after his mistakes.