It's been a while since I've written anything, so please be gentle with this return to fanfic. There will be a companion piece that will be up hopefully at the beginning of next week, so keep an eye out for that, too.

Thanks to FauxMaven for checking this over.

This time, he finds just the right words. He tells her he wants to give it a go, that he's loved her for years, that it's time. She hesitates, he reassures. She wavers, biting her lip in that way that drives him mad. He takes a chance and kisses her. Her resistance is brief; soon she is melting into him, acquiescing. She is so warm in his arms, and it's everything he's ever dreamed of.

He knows he has to be careful, that he can't indulge in these fantasies while he works. Lapses in concentration can get a man killed. But when he's off-duty, alone, he can let his mind wander. It seems that for as long as he can remember, he's been rewriting his life. Whenever his partner talks about her books, he always laughs inwardly at the irony—she may be a best-selling author, but he's the real (re)writer. He's always had a good imagination—that's part of why he's so good at divining motives. But real life seldom turns out the way he imagines it. So he rewrites.

She tells him she wants to go away. He'd already heard it from Sweets, but his stomach still twists at her words. A year without her seems impossible. He can see the hesitation in her eyes and the set of her mouth, knows that even though she feels this need acutely, that she'll stay if he asks. She should go, she never really meant to spend all her time on FBI cases, and he knows that he's holding her back. But he's selfish, and he asks her not to go. Begs. Pleads. Anything to keep her here. No, that's not right. Okay, he'll follow her. He'll find work there somehow. He's got skills. The change of pace will allow her to relax, make her more open, and one night, as they gaze up at the stars on a moonlit beach, the moment will be right.

It's not always moments with his partner that he rewrites, though there are hundreds of missed chances, regretted words, and errors of judgment when it comes to her. He also dwells on arrests gone badly, missed shots, hesitations, trusting his gut when he shouldn't have, and vice versa. One conversation truly stumps him; he's never able to find the words that would have kept Zack from going to Iraq. He knows without a doubt that whatever happened there made Zack susceptible. He feels the weight of guilt; he knows that Zack would still be in the lab if only he had found the right words. Usually, though, the right choices are very clear in hindsight.

They make plans to meet up in a year. He walks away, feels her gaze. Turning, he sees her watching him, and her eyes are practically begging him to come back and kiss her. He shouldn't, he knows it's not a good idea, that it'll just make getting over her that much harder when she rebuffs him. But this time, he doesn't listen. Closing the distance between them seems to take forever as he watches her face, trying to read her reaction, but then he's pulling her close, his lips on hers, her arms around his waist. And he knows he's finally got it right.

Both Sweets and Dr. Wyatt say he has an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. Maybe so, but it doesn't really matter. He'll just keep rewriting. Practice makes perfect, right?