I have been absent lately, and for that I'm sorry. I have been in a weird mood lately, and I honestly am having a hard time getting my thoughts down in a way that makes sense. Here is a story I've been sitting on for a little while, not sure if anyone would enjoy it, or if it would just depress the hell out of people.

This is a, "what if we picked up where the finale left off" kind of story, so if you haven't seen it this might not make much sense. You can get the gist of it though.

I wrote this to Sam Smith's "Not In That Way", and I really suggest you listen to that along with this.

Read, enjoy, and let me know if there's something you thing I should know. Music for this pairing, story ideas, rants about the show, I'm always around…just not always visible.

Sitting up against the headboard, Oscar flexed his shoulders, the material of his shirt irritating his already raw skin. He sighed, looking around the room, remembering that it hadn't seemed this lonely a few hours ago. Or maybe it did, and he just refused to admit it. He reached down, moving the half-hazardly thrown comforter up a bit as he drew his legs to his chest, resting his elbows on his knees. He dropped his head, his hands cradling his skull against the hangover and the guilt. The warmth of his palms rested against his eyes, making him realize just how exhausted the last 24 hours made him. He blew out a shaky breath, the moisture gathering behind his eyes as he picked his head up, thumping it back against the wood. He screwed up, that was the best way to put it. He was tired, he was weak, and he did what he had always told himself he couldn't. He decided to let someone in. What it had gotten him was a gaping whole where his heart used to be, and he had no one to blame but himself. He brought it upon himself, doing what he wanted over what he should have done. He had made that mistake as a child and was never allowed to forget it, but the images seared into his mind were worse than any tongue-lashing. What he had was a shadow of what once had been, and now he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to move forward. He'd forever be stuck in what could have been, knowing he never really had a say in it to begin with.

He sat at his desk, mug between his hands, looking at her with a mixture of despair and sympathy. She was not the kind of person to be knocked down and stay down, but she was making it clear this was her proverbial white flag. He was supposed to pick up the pieces and help her move on, but he could feel that shift that her lies caused. It fueled his hesitation, the pause that kept him from telling her it would be alright. That they'd be fine, because this time, they wouldn't. His maverick of a partner was wounded, so he did the only thing he could honestly agree with, he kept drinking with her. He kept drinking until the lies were just a quick lick of heat against his skin, rather than the raging fire they started as. Maybe it was wrong to try to chase the quiet promised at the bottom of a bottle of scotch, but he couldn't care less.

He watched her, the edges of his vision blurring as the warmth in his blood increased. He knew he didn't need any more to drink, but the sound of the scotch hitting the bottom of his empty mug quieted that thought. He didn't want to feel wounded too, but he couldn't help it, there was nothing else left. He saw the way her strained smile eased, the lines around her eyes becoming deeper the longer she drank. She relaxed her shoulders, slouching in her chair while she hugged her mug to her chest. She'd sip and stare, sip and stare until she needed a refill. He didn't doubt she could see the anguish in his posture, the alcohol dulling the walls he kept up to protect himself and others. She was seeing everything, peeling away his hurt and anger to find the hope he had kept well hidden up to that point. He was letting her strip him bare, too afraid that she was looking for something he couldn't give her. He just kept drinking, and eventually it wasn't so bad. At least right then.

They had stayed quiet for some time, silently passing the bottle back and forth until there was nothing left. He looked over at her, watching the way her lower lip trembled when he placed the bottle in the trash can. She had been watching him intently, her glassy eyes enough to break his silence.

"My house has scotch," he murmured, giving her an attempt at a smile that he didn't think he accomplished by the look on her face.

She bit her lip, closing her eyes as she leaned her head back, not saying a thing. He watched the graceful lines of her slender neck as she took deep breaths, her throat moving with every swallow as the seconds ticked by. He was frozen, unable to look away from the delicate skin, the slightly pink skin inviting and forbidden. He dropped his gaze as she slowly brought her head back down to eye level, her normally vibrant blue eyes now blown wide as she stared at him. He stared back, memorizing the faint ring of hazy blue around her pupils as she said something about a cab. He was so focused on her, that when she stood before him, he was almost dumbfounded at her silhouette in the crappy light of the office. He could smell the alcohol on her, and that was what forced him to stand, getting his coat as she followed him out in silence. They caught a cab, falling into it gracelessly as he rattled off his address. He sat back, and let his head fall against the headrest as he unconsciously threw his left arm over the backseat. Angie looked over at him, shrugging a shoulder as she fell back against it, her hair tickling his wrist. He grabbed a couple strands, winding them around his fingers as the car jerked, Angie's hand came up to cover his in her hair. He easily adjusted his grip, slipping his fingers between hers to loosely tangle their hands together. He felt a gentle squeeze come from her, inciting an immediate response to run his thumb soothingly over the outside of hers. His skin felt alive as he felt the blood thrumming under her skin at his touch, her pulse racing the longer his skin touched hers.

They were interrupted by the cab coming to an abrupt stop. Oscar opened the door and released Angie's hand, moving away from her and out into the frigid night air. It was the first jolt of awareness that made it to his brain, making it hard to focus on dropping money on the front seat as Angie shut the door behind her. He dropped his gaze, almost distraught at the lack of material covering her hands.

"I left them at work, didn't think I'd need them tonight," Angie answered knowingly, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans as they made their way to his door. He pushed the key into the lock, pausing to drop his head against the door as he spoke candidly.

"You plan on staying awhile?" He stayed where he was, trying to piece together what the hell it was he was doing. He could feel his head fight weakly against what his heart was telling him; the war almost making him miss her next breath. Almost.

"Yeah," she replied, tilting her head to the side almost defiantly, daring him to contradict her. He didn't.

He pushed the door open, shrugging his jacket off as he stepped inside, looking back briefly to see her doing the same. She dropped her coat on the hook, watching as he did the same, pausing to pull up the sleeves of his blue sweater. She watched as the muscle beneath the skin of his forearm flexed, his other hand coming up to adjust the watch sitting on his wrist. She walked forward, dropping her fingers over the face of the watch, letting them graze his skin before she continued on to his couch. It was an L shape, three of the brown leather cushions mimicking a normal couch before having a longer side that imitated a bed. She sat in the cushion next to the longer side, motioning for Oscar to take the long part. He was happy to oblige, stretching his legs out as she slouched against the couch. She curled her feet beneath her and slid her head onto his thigh. He started to stroke her hair, his fingers moving surely across her scalp as he massaged her head. She let a low groan slip from between her lips, instinctively tilting her head back to seek more solid contact. He continued his ministrations, letting his left hand wander from her scalp to the base of her neck, kneading her skin gently. He could feel the way she responded to him, her smooth skin giving under his fingers. He then slid his hand down further, pressing his palm into the muscles of her shoulder as she curled further into his thigh, still facing his knees. He felt rather than heard her groan against his thigh, the vibrations creating an almost unbearable tension until he stopped all together.

She let out a sigh, turning to face his stomach as she lifted her head into her hand, her elbow on his thigh. It made her about even with his chest, the look in her eyes relaxed and thoughtful. He'd thought they had left intrusive emotions at work, but it seemed he was wrong. She simply peered up at him, her right hand coming up to wedge itself between the couch and his lower back. She touched his skin where his sweater had ridden up, and lazily stroked the skin with her pinky; gently scraping her nail up and down as he shivered. She smiled slightly, until his right hand came down to cradle her head. She concentrated on his soft smile, watching as his eyes reverently etched her face into his mind, his thumb ghosting over the shell of her ear. She shivered this time, and he continued to touch the skin of her throat delicately. She finally leaned the tiniest bit forward, and he met her halfway, resting his forehead against her own as he shared a breath with her. She could smell the scotch, and let it wash over her; making her weak to whatever it was that he had to say. She may have done him wrong, but she'd never refuse the closeness they shared. Maybe it made her selfish, or it was what made her human. He took a breath and let it out gently, keeping her anchored to him so he could whisper, afraid that anything more would shatter everything.

"I don't want to be alone tonight," he breathed, the admission knocking every last wall down that he had between himself and the rest if the world. The last one between him and her. He closed his eyes, hoping she understood the real meaning behind his words. He needed her, and all she had to do was say yes. All he wanted was for her to say yes, to him.

"Tomorrow-"

"Isn't tonight."

"I can't give you more than this. Please don't ask me to," she pleaded, her lips grazing against his own as her voice broke. He knew this wasn't what they needed, but it just didn't matter anymore.

"Then just say you'll stay," he murmured, leaving the decision up to her. It didn't take long.

"Okay"

He woke up sometime later, the sky giving way from black to blue, and blue to pink as the sun started to rise. He could feel the beginning of a full throb in his head, but ignored it in favor of taking in his surroundings. He scratched absently at his exposed chest, watching the way the sheet hung on for dear life at the dip of Angie's lower back. The smooth, bare skin was marred by his teeth marks on the junction between her neck and shoulder, the mark red and indented. He trailed a finger over it, making his way down her arm as he smoothed his hand over her back. He hadn't wanted to wake her, but the deep breath and subsequent shifting said she was. She kept her head turned away from him, gathering a sheet around her as she got up and picked her clothes up off the floor. She made her way to the bathroom silently, never looking back as he heard the deafening click of the lock. He slowly got up, pulling on a shirt and sleep pants as he padded out to the kitchen, coming up with a bottle of water and throwing back a couple aspirin. He made his way back to his room, picking up his clothes from last night as he went, and throwing them in a pile beside his door. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he watched Angie sit on the foot of his bed, slipping her feet into her boots before lacing them. He avoided her eyes as he sat on the edge beside her, noticing the way her shoulders dropped once she was done.

She stood up, pacing in front of him for a moment before stopping directly in front of him. He moved his knees apart as she moved in closer, her glassy eyes spilling tears as she cradled his head in her hands. He could feel the moisture gather behind his eyes, making him blink rapidly as he held her hands in place against his jaw. She moved closer to him, their noses brushing, as she breathed her words against his lips.

"I'm sorry Oscar, I'm so sorry," she murmured, her tears falling as she kissed him gently. He could feel the moisture on his face as he sighed into her kiss, feeling the anguish and unsaid goodbye in the gentle bite to his bottom lip. His hands moved to anchor her to him, his tongue reaching out gently to lick her bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth before he pulled away. She chased his mouth, kissing him one last time before breaking away from him, knowing if she didn't they'd never survive each other. He dropped his hands, and she moved hers, her thumbs coming to brush his tears away, as well as hers from his face. She let him go, and walked away from him, making it all the way to the sidewalk before she burst into tears again. She knew she could never go back, but what Oscar was offering her was dangerous. He was offering her a chance at forever, and she knew he deserved so much better than her, even if he didn't agree. He'd understand eventually, and she'd know she protected him from the one thing that could have ruined him; her. It was selfish, but she couldn't take the chance. She had to make a clean break, but the only thing breaking was her heart. She wanted so badly to give Oscar anything, that she refused everything. Damned if you do, and damned if you don't. It was the reason she didn't mention that her badge is hiding in the top drawer of his bedside table; she wouldn't be able to stomach the disappointment she knew she'd see if she had to look him in the eye.

He watched her from his window, crying as she tried to hail a cab, and his heart went out to her. After everything they'd been through, it was selfish to have her when he knew she wasn't in the right place. He knew even before he asked her that she was leaving him, leaving what they had, because she had to. He respected it, but it didn't help ease the ache in his chest as he picked up her forgotten bracelet off of his nightstand. He'd hold into it for now, and maybe one day she'd come back to collect...and maybe she'd want more than just the jewelry.

Is it sad that I depressed the hell out of myself writing this? Jeez, I need a cookie now. Let me know what you thought.