Author's Note: Many thanks to Simply Complex Mind for her help.

Third Strike and Out

Home at last.

"Thanks again," Lilly said when the car turned the corner into her street. It wasn't an empty phrase; she really was grateful that Stillman had driven her home. She had her car in the shop for inspection and had jumped into a cab when the call about Jeffries had come. In the chaos after the shooting-- which one of them do you mean?, a sarcastic voice in her head asked, the one where Jeffries nearly died or the one where you nearly killed the kid who did it?-- she had forgotten to ask Scotty if he could drop her off. When she dared to leave the safety of the interrogation room after-- she shied away from the word breakdown-- after her little episode, Scotty was already gone, probably heading over to the hospital to look in on Jeffries. She considered paying Will a visit before she went home, but it was late. To be honest, she didn't like hospitals on the best of days, and visitation hours were probably over. Even if she found someone at the station to drive her over to the hospital it wouldn't solve her transportation problem. So she had gladly taken up Stillman's offer to drive her home.

"Told you, it's on my way. No problem. And here we are," said Stillman as he stopped the car in front of her house. He left the motor running. There was little traffic that late at night; Lilly's neighbors kept regular hours and were all home by then. She looked up at her own humble abode. Its dark windows were nearly invisible amid all the other bright islands of light in the street. Contrary to what most of her colleagues believed, Lilly liked coming home normally, but right then the house looked cold and dismissive.

She knew she was being foolish, but her little whatever in the interrogation room had shaken her. Understandable and absolutely normal, she told herself. Nothing a good night's sleep wouldn't fix, provided that she didn't dream; she should get out of the car and let Stillman drive on. The boss was probably wondering what was taking her so long.

Lilly turned her head. "So, where're you heading? Jones'?"

She didn't even feel guilty about stalling. He looked tired, yes, but she doubted that he felt tired enough to go to sleep anytime soon. Why, because you are afraid of nightmares he has to be, too? the little voice kept nagging.

Stillman shrugged. "Not tonight. Just home, I guess."

She could imagine why. Jones' Tavern would be filled with other cops that knew Stillman was Will's boss and would feel the need to offer him sympathy and cheer him up. And they would also ask him questions. That's what cops did for a living, after all. 'How's Jeffries doing; good thing you caught the bastard; is it true the doer's a kid?'

Lilly shuddered. It was probably the last place Stillman wanted to be that night. At least it was the last place she wanted to be that night.

A motor started and across the street a car pulled out of a parking spot. The headlamps flared to life and broad beams drenched her doorway in stark light. Lilly watched the shadows flit over the front windows before the house sunk back into darkness. "Do you, uh, want to come in? Have a drink maybe?" Sleep-deprived and rattled as she had been, she still had noticed the bottle on the desk in his office.

He shook his head and let out a deep breath. "Better not. I wouldn't be good company."

"My neighbor gave me a bottle of whiskey for Christmas. The good stuff, or so she says. I wouldn't know, I don't drink it." She waited for a reaction, even threw in a smile for good measure, but he kept staring out the windshield. The motor was softly humming while the seconds ticked away.

It had been worth a try. She reached down to her seat belt. "Good night, then."

That woke Stillman from his stupor. He looked at her with wide eyes as if surprised to find her still there. "The good stuff, is that right?"

Lilly's fingers came to rest on the belt clip. Hope was rising in her chest and she hated herself for it. "My neighbor likes me."

Stillman just looked at her with unseeing eyes. Even in the dark Lilly could make out the deep lines under his eyes that two sleepless days had carved into his face, couldn't help but notice the slope of his drooped shoulders. She thought she knew what his answer would be, but he surprised her. He blinked once, changed gears and slowly pulled into the vacated parking space on the other side of the street.

"She likes you, huh?" He gave Lilly a tired smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and shut off the engine. "I take your word for it."

***

Lilly left Stillman in her living room and rummaged around in her kitchen cupboard for the bottle of whiskey she knew had to be there. It was a gift from her well-meaning neighbor, a nice old lady that fed Lilly's cats when she couldn't make it home on time but didn't know anything about her drinking habits. She finally found it at the back behind a stack of canned tomato soup, right next to a forgotten bottle of red wine. Lilly couldn't even remember where it had come from and how old it was. After a second of hesitation she pulled both bottles out and stepped over the bowls of water and cat food that were filled to the brim.

The cats in question were both watching their owner from their scratching tree. Olivia was sitting on the top platform and shot Lilly a reproachful glance.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm sorry, okay?" Lilly said as she reached out with her free hand and scratched the one-eyed feline behind her ears, but Olivia wasn't in the mood for cuddling. She jumped to the ground and trotted out of the kitchen into the room behind it, closely followed by her white three-legged friend.

"And a nice day to you, too."

Lilly watched her pets jump onto the spare bed and make themselves comfortable. "Traitors," she mumbled, grabbed two glasses and joined Stillman again.

"Here we go." She sat down on the couch beside him and poured them their drinks. The wine smelled good, like flowers or fruit.

Beside her John took a sip. "Not bad," he said when he saw her questioning glance.

"Told you so."

They both leaned back, him with a glass of whiskey in his hand and Lilly with her tumbler of red wine standing in front of her. There fell a deep silence.

They hadn't said much in the car either, but then Stillman had to concentrate on driving.

Lilly started tapping her foot. The silence grated on her nerves and she began to regret her impulsive action. The proverbial elephant in the room situation. Maybe this had been a bad idea. She suspected Stillman would give in and start talking any second now. Nosy cops or not, maybe they should have gone to some bar that wasn't Jones' Tavern where they could have just sipped their drinks in silence without the need to talk because either the music was too loud or a football game was showing on the big screen TV.

Lilly's foot stopped in mid-air. In the days before everything went to hell, her male colleagues had been talking sport more than usual. She hadn't paid attention; their enthusiasm came and went in waves, always this big event or that tournament, but there had been rumors about an office pool. Surely there would be a game on TV, then? Lilly was torn. Her interest in sports was non-existent. On the other hand...

Finally Lilly couldn't stand the silence anymore. "Do you mind if I turn on the TV?"

Stillman only shook his head. "Your home."

She turned on the TV and surfed the channels until she found one where men in shorts were chasing a basketball. Slowly, Lilly relaxed while the commentators talked about March Madness, regions and teams. She sank back into the couch and let the voices wash over her. The TV blared and created the illusion of conversation, but Lilly didn't pay attention to the images that flickered across the screen. She reached for her wine and savored its sweet taste. It warmed her insides, but the artificial heat only lasted a few seconds. It was tempting to finish her glass in one go, although she knew from experience that she shouldn't hit the bottle when she felt off-kilter. She tended to do stupid things when she drank too much too fast.

Obviously she was the only one having reservations. Out of the corner of her eyes she watched Stillman take another gulp of whiskey. He worked his way through the bottle with silent determination and had nearly finished drink number two; another glass and she couldn't let him drive home on his own with a clear conscience. Who knew how many he had had earlier.

Lilly took a look at the silent figure next to her and came to a decision. She felt confident that she could fall asleep in front of the TV now that the wine had helped calm her down a bit. It was selfish to keep Stillman up just to keep her company. She would wait for him to finish his glass and then tell him that he didn't have to stay for her sake. He hadn't even so much as glanced at the TV, and she knew how much he loved sports; this guy knew old baseball statistics by heart. He also hadn't pointed out that Lilly normally had no interest in sports whatsoever, or made a joke about it. The last two days had obviously taken their toll on him. Whom was she kidding? They had taken their toll on all of them, by the end of the shift the whole squad had looked like death warmed over. Stillman shouldn't have to deal with a hangover in the morning on top of everything else. Maybe the team could go out and celebrate when Jeffries was on his feet again. They were always having fun on First Thursdays. Maybe --

" -- was Detective Jeffries hit by two bullets. His condition--"

Lilly froze. Unnoticed by them the news had started. Lilly wanted to look away, but her eyes were glued to the screen. She saw a crowd gathered in front of Pops' store and watched with growing unease as the camera focused on Scotty pacing up and down behind the crime scene tape trying to find witnesses. Had there been a news report about her own shooting just like that, she wondered. Probably yes. She was glad she hadn't seen it.

The anchor woman appeared on the screen again. Lilly blinked and fumbled with the remote control. After one long second the screen went blank and left her and Stillman right where they had started. One last static crackle and they sat in the gloom with the obligation to create their own noise.

The silence was deafening.

"I think I've had enough." Stillman put down his glass with a dull thud. He bit his lip and stared at the bottle in front of him, his forearms rested on his knees. The skin at his collar line was tinged with a faint red that slowly crept up his neck.

Lilly's heart pounded against her ribcage. Funny. A minute ago she had been ready to send him on his way, but then reality had broken through the walls of her refuge and she realized that she wasn't ready to face it alone.

She leaned forward and poured herself another glass with a shaky hand. So what if she wanted to forget the last two days? She deserved a little peace of mind.

She took a swig, then cupped her hands around the glass. "Close call, huh?" Her voice wasn't steadier than her hand.

The muscles in Stillman's jaw tensed. The redness had reached his cheeks and spread out over his ears. "We were lucky."

"Doesn't feel that way."

His answering bitter laugh was so unexpected it made Lilly jump. Stillman hung his head. "At least we're all still alive."

Unbidden, his words conjured up the painful memories she had successfully suppressed the last few days. Lilly forced herself to think of something else.

Jeffries lies stock-still in his hospital bed. Lilly squirms in her chair. The antiseptic hospital smell stings her nose.

Another happy memory to cling to, she thought sardonically. She shook her head. "It's just not fair."

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. She looked up, afraid how Stillman would react. After all, it was their job to protect the people and sometimes that meant they would get hurt. They all knew that when they signed up for the job; it was why Lilly had struggled with her fate in private and had made an effort not to let it show.

Stillman's expression softened. He seemed sadder than Lilly had ever seen him. "You're right. It's not fair."

A cold shiver ran down Lilly's spine. She never had to attend the funeral of a colleague, but she knew Stillman had. Funerals for good cops like Josie Sutton's father, and ADA Bell's father.

It could have been so much worse, she realized. Jeffries could have died, and not only him. A painful lump formed in Lilly's throat. She herself could have died, and Stillman. Kat, who had been shot in Fishtown before she joined the squad. If things had turned out differently, Lilly might have never met Kat.

She couldn't get the news images out of her head, how Scotty was trying to find witnesses in the crowd, but nobody cared enough to come forward. It was a big spectacle for the media, something to sink their teeth in, but the ugly truth was: nobody out there cared.

Her heart beats faster when she sees him. What is her father doing at the station? She doesn't know how to react.

Lilly shied away from the memory and went further back in time instead, back when she had been shot and had longed for her family then, for someone to be there for her. She had woken up to see the concerned faces of her colleagues, just like Jeffries. Her friends-- her only friends left by then, but she could dwell on that sad fact another time-- meant well, but it hadn't been the same. While she had lain there in pain and hazy from the drugs, all Lilly had wanted was her mom. She liked to think that this one time Ellen might have actually shown up. It would have been a first.

Lilly scraped at the label of the wine bottle with her fingernail. "Only cops care if one of us gets hurt."

"Don't be so sure," Stillman said under his breath.

"What?"

She looked at Stillman, but he shook his head like he had already said too much. "Nothing."

On another day Lilly might have put two and two together, how Stillman could have known Valentine had given Jeffries money, how that cop McGinley had been at the scene so fast, and come up with the Commissioner as the answer. But after two long emotionally draining days spent worrying about Jeffries, Lilly couldn't care less about Stillman's run-in with Doherty. She had other fish to fry.

"Where's Jeffries' sister, anyway? Can't she be bothered to show up? Bet she couldn't care less what happens to him."

Lilly had never met her, didn't even know her name, but from the little Jeffries and Vera had told her she had made up her mind. She knew that type. "Always making trouble. They expect others to take care of it, but heaven forbid they should think of you for once." The thought of Jeffries alone in his hospital room fed her anger even more. Jeffries deserved better, right? Lilly tried to concentrate on her hatred and felt a little better. Cold fury was an old friend of hers, her patented recipe against the pain.

"She'll have a reason. Maybe she's on vacation, or visiting friends."

Lilly snorted. Oh, she was sure that woman had plenty of 'friends'. "Or maybe she just thinks that whatever she does is more important than her family."

It wouldn't surprise her. Had Lilly's own sister cared that their mother had died? That Lilly had been shot? No family visits for Lilly, no, not when she had needed them. Why had her father come to see her at the station? And why not earlier? Where had he been while she was in the hospital-- on vacation with his new, improved family? Why did she have to settle with a lousy medallion as consolation prize? Why did nobody care?

"We were there."

Lilly's cheeks burned. Was she that transparent? Then she realized he was talking about Jeffries and flushed even more.

"Will wasn't alone when he woke up. That's what counts."

Lilly had to bite her lip to keep herself from saying 'and how would you know that?' . She had heard from Kat that Stillman's daughter had come to the hospital after he had been shot. It was appalling, but deep down Lilly was jealous. She couldn't help it. Thankfully, Stillman seemed oblivious to her thoughts.

"We prayed for him, and we found the shooter." His hands clenched to fists. "At least this time I could do something."

A gun. Screams. Stillman falls to his knees. Angry red blood gushes from his wound.

Lilly tensed. Couldn't he just shut up? She didn't want to hear it.

His voice was so low that she nearly didn't understand him. "My house, my guys...."

That was the past; it was over. Now, if she could only believe that.

A shot, her ears ring. Red everywhere. Numb. Cold, so cold.

Lilly let out a deep breath and fought the tears that threatened to spill. She had been able to push the images aside during the investigation, even when she had been crying in the interrogation room, but she couldn't fight the memories anymore. Her anger was gone, the old trusted shield had failed. She was too damn tired and her defenses were crumbling. She didn't want to remember. What was the point? All the blood, all the pain.

"I shouldn't have let it happen," Stillman whispered.

It still hurt. She was over it, she was, but the memory still hurt. So why did she have to come back to it? Why couldn't life just go on, why couldn't she stop dwelling on it.

"I let you down, all of you." Stillman turned on the couch so that his whole body faced hers, but didn't meet her eyes. He took her right hand and squeezed it hard. Lilly squeezed back and held his hand.

It hadn't been his fault. She had told him that before, but she knew he didn't believe her. It was a popular myth among cops that nobody would get hurt if only they were smart and clever enough. She had believed it herself at one point. Lilly ran her thumb over Stillman's knuckles. It was too scary to admit that you were helpless; seemed too cruel that all their pain was a result of coincidences and bad luck.

With her free hand she traced the outline of the medallion in her trouser pocket through the cloth. The smooth warm metal pressed against her leg. Saint Jude, patron saint for lost causes. Be careful out there, her father had said. Funny, right? So funny it hurt.

Stillman's fingers flexed against her palm. He tugged gently at her hand, released his grip and withdrew. Lilly missed the comforting warmth of his touch on her skin instantly. She tried to remember the last time the two of them had been so close, physically close, and drew a blank. Normally they didn't touch. It wasn't only that it wasn't appropriate on the job. Somehow they just weren't the touchy-feely type. A gentle squeeze on the shoulder to comfort, a light nudge with the elbow to jest, that was all they allowed. Sometimes they talked, but normally it was enough support to just be there. Lilly hated to admit it, but that night she could use a little comfort and a friendly pat on the head didn't cut it.

In spite of the little voice in her head that told her she was weak and would only make a fool of herself, she leaned forward and rested her forehead on Stillman's shoulder. She had half expected him to draw away in surprise and embarrassment, but she needn't have worried. Stillman raised his head and tucked Lilly's head under his chin. She buried her face in his cool shirt and tried to blink back the tears she was fighting with. Enough already. Enough.

Lilly forced herself to take a deep breath and listened to Stillman's heart beating steady and strong in his chest. She held on to that regular beat like a drowning man to a lifeline. It was a welcome reminder that goodness and kindness still existed. Her own heart beat faster in response. When Stillman cradled the back of her head with his hand something inside her shifted. Suddenly the nervous energy bottled up in her body transformed, warped and exploded in a ball of heat that turned her insides to liquid fire. She was startled to recognize the unexpected craving that had taken possession of her. She knew it well, knew exactly what she wanted to do now, and that realization shook her to the core.

It was strange, awkward, surreal, just plain wrong-- but it felt so right. She wondered if he noticed-- did he feel the same?

Without thinking it through she pressed against him and ran her fingers over his back. She could tell the moment he realized what she was doing when he tensed up and his back stiffened. Lilly traced little circles on his shirt and waited for his reaction. She was ready to laugh it off and blame it on the alcohol or the lack of sleep and forget it had ever happened.

Only Stillman didn't pull back.

So Lilly didn't stop. It was madness, but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was to feel like a normal human being again. She slid closer, craned her neck and rested her head on Stillman's shoulder again.

"We shouldn't do this," Stillman whispered. He hadn't moved yet.

"Yes," Lilly breathed against his neck, simmering with excitement, one hand pressed against the small of his back. Her other hand danced over his thigh and stroked him through the rough cloth. She pressed her nose against his skin and inhaled the faint scent of his aftershave. A coil of heat wrapped around her spine. "We'll regret it in the morning."

"Yes." The hitch in his voice and his fingers that now tiptoed under the hem of her wool sweater belied his words.

Lilly arched against him. "Yes."

She was high on adrenaline and getting shaky, all but certain that Stillman wouldn't run, yet not bold enough to either just grab him or put her desire into words. She went for a compromise instead and rested her hand on his elbow so he wouldn't dare think of removing the arm he had slung around her waist. The couch creaked under them when she slowly leaned back and pulled him along. Her nerves almost caught up with her when their legs bumped into each other and she nearly drove her knee into his side, but in the end they sorted it out without maiming themselves in the process. It wasn't before she lay on her back pinned down by the reassuring weight of Stillman's body on top of her that she felt brave enough to look him in the face again for the first time since she had put them on this slippery slope.

She stared up into his wide open eyes and saw her own need reflected there. Relief flooded through her and energized every cell in her body, although maybe that was caused by Stillman's hand that slid under her sweater and grazed her feverish skin. The feeling was so intense that she had to close her eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. Easy now.

This was even better than she had hoped. She lifted her arms over her head to clear the way for his cool fingers and Stillman took the hint. His fingertips tickled her stomach and softly brushed over her belly button before they wandered further up her body. Lilly ground her hips against his thigh as his calloused palm inched slowly, much too slowly for her taste, over her ribs. She squeezed her eyes shut and dug her fingernails into the sofa cushion, amazed and a little overwhelmed by her own reaction. She was going too fast, so fast that Stillman couldn't keep up with her. His fingers stopped at the hem of her bra.

Her mouth went dry. One second elapsed; ten seconds, thirty, Lilly didn't know how it long it took, probably only a few seconds, but it felt like eternity. It was long enough that she started to fear she might have made an enormous mistake. She kept silent and clung to the slim chance that he only wanted to tease her, until she realized that his hand was shaking.

She opened her eyes again and read hesitation in his averted face. No, please, he couldn't do that to her. Lilly flushed with humiliation. She wanted to push him over the edge; beg, coax, or just grab him and kiss him senseless. It took all the willpower she had left to hold back. Not because she was noble or shy or afraid to fight dirty, no. She couldn't say why, but she needed him to say out loud that he wanted her, too; in fact, she craved those words nearly as much as she craved the touch of his naked skin against hers. Maybe more. She took his face in her hands and waited until he reluctantly looked into her eyes. Her thumb stroked gently over his cheek. "Your call."

Lilly felt the muscles in his jaw clench and unclench a few times under her hands. Several different emotions she couldn't name flickered across his face, before his expression closed off. John leaned in so close that his strangled whisper rang in Lilly's ears as loud and clear as a shot.

"Yes."

And finally he kissed her.

He was a man of his word. His soft lips brushed over hers without his former hesitation. It was the starting signal Lilly had been waiting for. She flicked the tip of her tongue over his upper lip and Stillman seized the chance to slip in. Smooth warmth and the earthy taste of whiskey engulfed her; maybe he could teach her to like it after all. She parted her lips to deepen the kiss, put her hand around his neck and pulled him closer. His short hairs were soft and tickled her fingertips. Stillman traced her mouth with his tongue maddeningly slowly with a thoroughness that Lilly thought was just like him. She responded in kind, rocked impatiently against Stillman and was rewarded when he ground his hips back against hers. The fire in her belly flared up when he thrust his tongue into her mouth with the same rhythm.

Lilly bent her knee to give Stillman more room to maneuver, but when she tried to wrap her leg around his waist she banged her ankle painfully on the table. While she swore and tried to sit up to rub her ankle John had the presence of mind to grab the swaying wine bottle before it could fall from the shaking table. Lilly nudged John's shoulder. "Let's go upstairs."

They half staggered, half fell up the stairs. John didn't let go of her for a second. He was right behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. Lilly took the stairs slowly, hardly holding her balance. They clung to each other like their lives depended on it. Maybe not my life, Lilly thought as she leaned back, confident that John could support both their weight, but my sanity. She pressed against him and could feel him pulse, even through the fabric of his pants. He moaned and rocked against her. His hand sneaked into her pants and Lilly bit her lip to keep from crying out loud. Her whole body was a live wire. She was all but ready to get on her knees and order him to pound into her right there, right then on the stairs. Instead she gripped the banister and spread her legs a little, which wasn't easy on the narrow staircase. Damn, they had to get naked soon.

Lilly licked her lips. "You're not helping."

Stillman chuckled in her ear, probably sporting a smug grin that Lilly couldn't see, but he pulled his hand back.

They stumbled into the bedroom. Lilly didn't waste time and pulled her purple turtleneck sweater over her head. She had been wearing it the whole day. Or was it two days? She had lost her sense of time. Stillman opened the top button of his blue shirt. A few tantalizing strands of chest hair peeked above the neckline and Lilly couldn't wait to run her hands through them and find out how far down they went. Impatiently she tugged at Stillman's sleeves, ready to claw her way through the fabric to reach naked skin if she had to.

"Wait, let me," Stillman murmured. Lilly took a step back and kicked off her trousers and socks, but didn't take her eyes of him. Stillman quickly opened the remaining buttons and shrugged his shirt off before his hands flew down to his belt. With the shadows on his downcast face he looked at the same time strange and familiar.

It was too dark in the room for Lilly's taste. The only light came from the corridor. Lilly climbed onto the bed in her underwear and switched on the lamp on the nightstand. She quickly swept the stack of photographs of the victims from their last cases into the drawer before she took a condom out and put it in their place. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Stillman pull his undershirt over his head.

For a second she felt vulnerable and exposed on all fours in her mismatched bra and panties, presenting her backside. Stillman dropped the undershirt on the floor where all his other clothes lay crumpled in a heap. Their eyes locked and just like that, the uncomfortable moment was over. She had no reason to be afraid: that was no stranger standing before her. It was none other than John Stillman, a man she had known and trusted for years, with lust written all over his face and now uncovered body. A body that was not bad for a fifty-something desk-ridden cop. Not bad at all.

Lilly's heart skipped a beat. Whatever his reasons were, whatever she might have feared: he wanted her. The fact that he was also Lieutenant Stillman, her superior officer, paled in comparison.

It's actually gonna happen.

"Come here," she said in a quivering voice as she turned around and reached for him. She tugged on his hand and pulled him into her waiting arms. Their lips crashed together and they kissed with a manic fervor that bordered on desperation. They knelt on the bed, his naked body pressed against hers, and held each other so tight that Lilly could feel his heart beat against her ribs. It was the closest she had come to feeling in control in days. The perfect moment was spoiled when Stillman shifted his weight and the metallic hard edge of some small unbending object cut uncomfortably into her collarbone.

Lilly sat back on her heels and gasped for air. Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of a small silver medallion on a leather string glittering on Stillman's bare chest. She touched it cautiously as if it might bite.

"Saint Michael."

His deep voice send a shiver down her spine. Go on, come on, that thought raced through her head, it doesn't matter, don't get distracted, but she was paralyzed, downright hypnotized by the pendant on her palm. Stillman squatted down next to her and she leaned into him for support, her eyes still fixed on the medallion. Stillman's fingers danced across her back light as a feather's touch and unhooked her bra. He softly kissed her shoulder before he pulled the strap down, then repeated that tender motion on the other side.

Although Lilly's body responded to Stillman's caresses, her mind grew uneasy. So far she had been acting on autopilot, but the wheels in her head started spinning again. She desperately wanted to let go and give herself over to the moment, but that was difficult when her head was filled with distracting nagging questions, like if there was any hidden meaning in the fact that her father had chosen Saint Jude for her and not Saint Michael, the patron saint of police officers; if it made any difference, and if Lilly could actually believe that a dead piece of metal had an influence on anything.

"I never leave home without it," Stillman mumbled and buried his face in her hair. His skilled hands roamed over her naked skin, but they couldn't reach Lilly's mind.

She closed her fingers around the pendant. It felt surprisingly warm to her touch, as if it was alive. Where was hers? Had it fallen out of her pocket?She craned her neck, suddenly frantic to find a metallic glitter among the clothes on the floor, but without success. The walls of her bedroom seemed to close in on her and Lilly squeezed her eyes shut, angry with herself.

"Lil?"

She could feel Stillman pull back and her anger mingled with fear. If he decided to leave now she would never be able to look him in the eyes again. Always thinking too much, she chastised herself. That ends right here. The medallion was only one of the million things she couldn't deal with right then. Later.

Lilly buried her face in John's shoulder and he stopped pulling back. She felt raw around the edges, ready to burst into a thousand pieces.

John stroked the back of her neck. He lowered his head and whispered into her ear with a strained voice, "It's okay, Lil. We're not hurting anyone."

That was definitely not what Lilly had expected. Several conflicting emotions warred within her: relief that he didn't leave, gratitude that he had absolutely no idea what was going through her head, but in the end the anger won. Because his words smacked of responsibility, rules, guilt, all those complicated abstract concepts she didn't want to think about. The enormity of what they were doing threatened to crash in on her. That was not how it was supposed to be, it should be easy, uncomplicated, not this rollercoaster of emotions. She shouldn't be able to dwell on what was happening, because the point of getting them naked in the first place was to make her forget everything for a few hours and stop aching, not to force her to put a name on what was happening. She couldn't understand how Stillman did it.

Before John had the chance to take a close look at her face she pushed him in the chest, shoved him down on the bed and straddled him. He didn't try to touch her, just watched her. Was he startled by her sudden change of mood? Lilly leaned down and nipped his shoulder not quite so gently to reassure him. He jumped and his fingers clenched the bed sheets. Good; she planned to make him forget his precious rules. This was only the beginning.

She ran her hands over his wiry arms, the rough spot on his right elbow, the smooth skin of his inner forearms. Over his heaving chest sprinkled with soft dark hair.

How could she explain it to him? Lilly hated to think of herself as a scared woman. She would not become afraid of the dark, would not numb her feelings with alcohol, would not rehash the painful events of her life over and over again. This was her way to get through the night. Did that mean she was using him? That depended on why he was there with her, didn't it? He had the bad habit of sacrificing himself to protect those who worked for him, but his motives weren't so altruistic this time, she thought, as she looked down on his hands clutching the linen.

There was something else lurking beneath, though. He was too focused. His piercing eyes shone too bright and were surrounded by deep shadows, the muscles in his forearms flexed so tight the tendons stood out like cords. His whole posture spoke of tension, almost as if he was in-- oh. Of course.

Goosebumps rose on her skin and the little hairs on her forearms stood on end as the realization sank in that he needed her as much as she needed him. It should have been obvious, really, but it came as a surprise. She'd have to remember that. Her anger was gone, replaced by a fierce pride that he trusted her with his pain. The fire in her guts rose like a phoenix from the ashes.

She had never imagined they would end up in bed together; how could she? It was still hard to believe, didn't seem quite real, although she felt the muscles move under his naked skin right that moment. Lilly followed down the faint line of hairs down the slight stomach that middle age had brought about, lingered there for a second and ran her fingers back up his chest again over his scorching hot flesh. He was real, and so was the desire that flooded her and pooled between her legs. Need you, she thought but the words didn't pass her lips. She hoped her body expressed everything her mouth wasn't able to.

Either John could read her like an open book, or he had reached the end of his patience. He squirmed under her, raised his hand and let it hover over her shoulder. His eyebrows rose. Lilly turned her head and placed a soft kiss on his palm. A strangled noise left John's throat and sent a thrill down her spine. He pulled himself up and wrapped his arms around her. Lilly felt dizzy and light-headed. She was ready to fall, sure he would catch her. John licked a wet trail down her neck to her collarbone. She soaked up the heat of his breath when he exhaled only to shiver when he breathed in and a blizzard danced on her skin. Want you. Lilly closed her eyes and moaned, speechless. John's big hands roamed her body. They were just the right size to cup her breasts. It was nearly enough, nearly perfect.

She opened her eyes again and saw John watching her, his head thrown back, with a look of intense concentration on his face that took her breath away. Lilly couldn't resist the temptation to run her tongue across his parted lips. He protested when she withdrew again, but Lilly only wound one arm around his neck and sat down on his thighs. He rocked his hips against hers. "Lil, please...," he whispered. His hand stroked down her spine and gently squeezed her ass.

"Yes," she breathed in his ear, unable to wait any longer. She held on to John, leaned sideways and snagged the condom package. Shortly after the discarded wrapper fell to the ground, followed by Lilly's panties. She slid closer and watched John's eyes dilate while she let her hand glide down between their bodies.

"Need you... Lil, I can't--"

"Hush." Without breaking eye contact she slowly lowered herself and guided him home.

"Jesus, yes." A low, content sigh escaped his lips.

Yes. Lilly pressed her face against John's shoulder. This was it. Their bodies began to move in tandem. John's hands gripped her hips so tightly that his fingernails dug into her skin, but this pain she welcomed. The little voice in her head tried in vain to scream at her. It was drowned out by the buzzing in her ears and the constant stream of words that fell from John's lips, his pleas not to stop that he repeated over and over.

"Like that, just like that," was all Lilly could whisper before she cried out in passion and threw her head back. Right there, oh yes...

She squeezed her eyes shut and gave in to the frenzy. Her breath caught. From deep within her ripples of laughter rose, silent laughter that went through her body like a tremor and bubbled out of her in tiny gasps. She laughed silently, out of breath, helpless to stop it and not really wanting to. One tiny tear escaped the corner of her eye and ran down her face, but she didn't try to hide it. Deep gratitude washed over her. All thoughts dissolved.

She felt alive, alive, alive.

***

Tranquility, silence. Bliss. Call it what you want, for Lilly it was heaven.

The only sound in the dark bedroom was John's steady slow breathing. Lilly found it peaceful. She lay on her side, content and relaxed, neither awake nor asleep, like her body was floating. Her bare foot dangled over the side of the bed. Finally, the storm flood of thoughts that had played havoc with her mind had ebbed away.

John was spooned behind her. His arm was snaked around her waist and held her close. At first he had slowly stroked his thumb over her belly. Forward. Pause. Backward. It had been soothing and slightly hypnotic. Lilly's mind had skirted the borders of consciousness, flirting with sleep but never crossing over into the land of dreams. In the end John had been the first to fall asleep; his fingers had first gone limp, then twitched in his sleep. Lilly leaned back into his embrace and covered his hand with hers. Drowsy as she was it took her some time to realize his breathing had become rapid and shallow.

"Boss?"

She could have slapped herself the moment she said it and hoped he hadn't heard her. When she didn't get an answer Lilly turned on the light. She winced at the sudden brightness. After her eyes had adjusted she studied Stillman's sleeping form beside her, feeling uneasy like she was trespassing. Like she was doing something forbidden in watching him without his knowledge.

She had known him for so long that she practically considered him ageless, but life had left its marks on him. His closed eyes were lined with crow's-feet, his short crop of remaining hair had turned from black into salt and pepper over the years.

With a pang of guilt she remembered why she had turned on the light when she saw Stillman's face contort in his sleep. "John," she whispered and gently shook his shoulder.

He startled and his eyes flew open. Lilly pretended not to see the uncertainty in them, then John covered them with his hand, rolled onto his back and let out a deep sigh. "Did I wake you?" he asked her in a thick voice and ran his hand over his face.

"Couldn't sleep anyway."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." She placed her hand on his chest right over his racing heart. She opened her mouth to make a lame joke to make him feel better but forgot all about it when her eyes fixed upon what she had known to be there but didn't notice before. Her hand wandered upwards to John's shoulder, ignoring the now familiar medallion, and came to rest on the small white scar hidden there, nearly invisible under a patch of chest hair. Fascinated, she leaned closer and nudged John with her free hand. He lifted one eyebrow but rolled on his side without grumbling. Lilly slid behind him with her fingers still resting on the puckered scar on his chest. The scar on his back where the bullet had exited was easier visible. She was tempted to kiss it better, but she knew she was too late for that. Filled with morbid fascination Lilly propped herself up on her elbow and carefully positioned herself behind John until the scar under her collarbone was pressed against its twin beside John's shoulder blade.

Their bodies bore the same scars as if they had been hit by the same bullet. And in a way that was the truth, Lilly thought.

John gently pried Lilly's fingers from his chest and kissed her knuckles. "Time to get some sleep, don't you think?" He looked at her over his shoulder. The few hours of troubled sleep hadn't been enough to erase the dark circles under his eyes. Lilly wondered if she looked as tired as he did.

"Yeah, you're right." The bed sheets rustled when she turned around and switched off the bedside lamp. He was right. They needed sleep, but that didn't mean she would be able to fall asleep, or that she even wanted to. The darkness suddenly didn't seem as friendly as before.

John embraced her from behind and placed a kiss under her ear. "Let's try at least," he whispered. Lilly clasped his hand and nodded in the dark. They clung to each other before fatigue settled in and finally, they were overcome with sleep.

***

Lilly woke with a start. Her bedroom was filled with twilight, although she could have sworn that it had been pitch black only a second ago. She blinked sleepily and realized that John moved beside her. He gently squeezed her shoulder.

"Gotta go," he whispered. His lips tickled her earlobe as he spoke.

"'S okay," she whispered back. Speaking in a louder voice would have felt wrong.

John sat up and exposed Lilly to a cold draft as he slid out of the bed. She shivered and wrapped the blanket closer around her while John began dressing without a hurry. Plain boxers, pants, undershirt. With every garment he donned disappeared another part of the man Lilly had spent the last hours with. She watched him closely but stayed silent. After he had closed the top button of his shirt he knelt down on one knee on the bed. His stubble raked over her skin when he placed a soft kiss under her ear. His cheek was warm next to hers. Lilly lifted one arm from the depths of the bedding to run her hand over his sleeve, but the rough cloth of his shirt felt cold to her touch and she quickly withdrew her arm. She shivered and John straightened. The floor creaked under his feet as he walked to the door while Lilly snuggled back under the duvet. He hesitated in the door jamb and glanced back at her one last time. It was too dark for Lilly to recognize the look on his face. Maybe he was about to speak, maybe not. It was hard to tell.

Whatever it was, John didn't say it. Which was good, because Lilly didn't want to hear it anyway. Nevertheless she followed him with her eyes when he went through, head down, and disappeared into the dark. She heard his footsteps on the stairs and pictured him reaching for his jacket. Maybe John would– no, it wasn't safe to think of him as John. He had stopped being John the moment he had left her bed. Maybe Stillman, maybe the boss would risk one last glance back before he put on his jacket and– and she heard the front door close and forced herself to stop that line of thinking. It did no good.

Lilly turned around to the window side and watched the ghostly patterns dawn's early light cast upon the floor. She was staring hard at them when his car started, and only when he was long gone she allowed herself to close her eyes. Even so she didn't go back to sleep again. It took all the concentration she had to keep the dark thoughts away. The minutes crept by as slowly as the shadows on the wall. Lilly shivered, relieved when finally the alarm clock went off at the usual time and she was allowed to get up: finally allowed to go to work, to take care of other people's problems and be too busy to brood over her own.