Title: Heavenly

Rating: Think long and hard about it. Long and hard… yup. You got it.

Summary: He already knows what heaven looks like. It's her.

Disclaimer: If Stephen Sommers wanted to give me a million dollars I wouldn't mind, but I wouldn't have earned it.

Rick O'Connell had been staring at the contents of his underwear drawer for no less than twenty minutes although, if asked, he wouldn't have been able to tell just what the contents of the drawer were.

He kept replaying those horrible moments in his head. Evelyn—beautiful, whip smart, perfect Evelyn—he'd lost her. He'd lost the most important person in his life, the best thing that had ever happened to him. He'd never have thought it when she first strolled into that Cairo prison, with her adorably pursed lips and wide dark eyes, but she had become the person he couldn't live without. Couldn't even imagine it. And then, for a few horrible minutes, he had. She'd been gone, slipped away to a place where he couldn't reach her. He had failed in what he had sworn on their wedding day: to protect her. Even now when he closed his eyes he could still see her peaceful face, the heat not yet faded from her body. Her chest had been so still—her whole body had been still. Every night as they lay in bed he could feel that chest rise and fall with the steady rhythm of her breathing, but in that moment…

And those eyes. Her eyes were like the night sky, filled with stars when she laughed and covered by clouds when she was somber. They glittered, black and endless. They shone like candles in the dark. They were a glimpse into her soul and he could never look into them without becoming lost, the first time being when he'd looked up at her after she'd saved him from hanging. The stars in her eyes had danced, commanding and amused and impossibly alluring.

But then they had closed. Those miniature skies had fallen shut, and they had refused to open again no matter how much he'd begged. And God, had he begged. He'd pleaded, sweetheart, please, come back. You have to come back. He couldn't do this without her, she had to stay with him, she couldn't leave him, darling, please...

"Rick?"

He sucked in a heaving breath, his lungs burning as he realized he hadn't been breathing for quite some time. His eyes stung and his knuckles were white from where he'd been gripping the edge of the dresser. Half of him wondered if this was a dream—if she wasn't still lying dead somewhere in Africa and he was home, a widower, a lost man in a dream so real he couldn't even tell the difference between sleep and awake anymore.

Lithe arms slid around his waist and a soft body pressed against his back. He could feel her press her cheek against his shoulder, her hair smelling light and sweet, like lotus blossoms.

"Your thoughts are so far away," She said. Her voice was soft in the way it only got when it was just the two of them, and it made something warm and liquid rise up in his throat.

He turned slowly, terrified that she'd vanish the second he looked at her, like Eurydice when Orpheus broke Hades' command. But no, she was still there. She was exuding heat, not that stale warmth that had slowly eked out of her forlorn shell. Her chest slowly rose and fell, the motion calm and unconscious, and her eyes shone like the full moon in a starless sky. He realized that she was wearing that light black nightgown that she'd worn during their first mummy adventure. It was still his favorite.

"I just put Alex down," She whispered. "He was rather clingy."

Their son, formerly so full of independence, had allowed his parents only a short moment to bask in each other before making himself his mother's shadow. Everywhere Evie was, Alex was but two steps behind her. Rick couldn't blame the kid. If Evie had let him, he wouldn't have let her out if his sight. He wouldn't even have let go of her hand.

"It might be a while before he's back to normal," Evie went on. "You might have to deal with some competition for my affections for a short bit."

"At least I have you to fight over," He replied.

"Why, Rick—are you crying?"

Was he? He brought a hand up to touch his face. So that was why his eyes were burning. He'd thought that was just from trying not to blink in case she disappeared between one bat of eyelids and the next.

Evie brought her hands up to brush at his face, wiping the tears away. "I'm here," She whispered. "I'm right here, Rick, and I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

His body moves while his mind is still frozen, his arms wrapping around her and tugging her even closer, pressing them together. She feels alive. She feels perfect.

"Do you want to know what Heaven looks like?" She asks. The words curl around his ear, slipping inside of him and worming their way into his chest, wrapping around his heart and tugging.

"I already do," He answers.

Evie laughs, but it doesn't sound right. When he looks up at her eyes, he realizes they're wet. She steps backwards, her hands wrapping around one of his and pulling him forwards, towards the bed.

"It was beautiful there," She says. "I can't even describe it. Just the feeling of warmth and love and joy."

"If you can't describe it, how are you going to show it to me?"

Evie swings him a little, pushing him so that he falls back onto the bed. She clambered on top of him, smiling.

"I didn't say that was heaven," She replied. "I mean, it was Heaven, but it wasn't my heaven."

She leaned down and kissed him. He'd thought he'd never get those again and the taste of her was all the sweeter for that loss.

"This is."

She tasted sweet like honey, her body moving against his. He ran his hands over her curves, grateful for the nightgown as he bunched up the fabric, handfuls of silk pulled to make way for bare skin. He always wanted her—she was his drug and drink combined—but he at that moment he needed her. He needed to feel that warmth under his hands, hear those little hitching breaths as he kissed her throat. A part of her still seemed dead to him—or maybe it was that a part of him had died with her. Either way something was cold between them, and he needed to warm it up.

He kissed her everywhere that he could reach, perfectly happy to get lost in the sensations she provided. She actually seemed more eager to get to the main event than he did, making short work of whatever clothes he still had on while he was content simply to touch and explore. Oh, sure, he was eager, but not in the usual way. He just wanted to appreciate her. He wanted to feel her curves, run the roughened palms of his hands over her smooth skin. He'd memorized all of her little pockmarks and freckles long ago, could map out the constellations of her tiny scars and bumps by heart, but he wanted to feel them all over again. He needed to make sure each one of them was there—that nothing had changed during her time out of his reach.

"I'm not going to break," She whispered, her lips running softly over the cord of muscle in his neck. "I'm right here."

He wanted to believe it—wanted this uncertainty, this lingering fear sliding cold in his stomach to leave him—but he had to be sure. He had to touch all of her, kiss everything he could reach. He had to banish the darkness.

But oh, she was so beautiful. She was like all of the stars in the galaxy combined, a constellation in human form. She was heat and warmth and love, joy and life and redemption. Her body was a temple and he was her most devoted worshipper. She was the goddess of the night sky, and he was her high priest. Heaven? Who had need of Heaven when he could kiss and suck at her skin, drink the addicting warmth of her mouth? Who could possibly yearn for paradise when they had her to touch, to caress and to hold? Who could want for anything when he could bury himself in her heat and feast on her looks and her touches?

He loved her. He'd always known that. But it was more than that. It was the creeping sensation that had stolen over him as the years had gone by, that slow realization that he couldn't go on without her, that scared him. He'd had a glimpse of Hell, and it was any form of existence without her.

Don't leave me, he pleaded.

Never again, she promised.

I need you, he confessed.

As I need you, she replied.

I love you, he whispered.

I know, she assured him.

He moved with her, within her, a dance of heat with his night goddess, and she set his body—his heart—aflame. Here, here, here was his heaven, and he never wanted to leave again. So he whispered his devotion into her skin, even when the white-hot pleasure, like the heart of the stars, consumed him—even long after, as they traded slow, deep kisses, their tongues twining and stroking lazily. He never stopped telling her, whispering and groaning and breathing it into her, saying his prayers just like he'd been taught at the orphanage because you were supposed to pray so that God would smile on you and let you into Heaven, and he had no intention of being shut out again.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he felt the icy grip on his heart melt away. Because for every time he told her he loved her, she said it right back. And right before he slipped away into sleep, when his limbs became too heavy and his eyes closed no matter how hard he tried to keep them open, he felt her continue to press kisses to his face and whisper,

"You're my heaven, too."

Another hurt/comfort over losing Evie. I'd say I'm sorry, but that would be a lie. Hopefully you enjoyed it!