Genevieve pushed through the glass door, holding it open for Sam and Dean behind her. She approached the woman behind the counter and ignored the cold once over she received.

"Good afternoon," she smiled openly. Friendly and harmless usually got more bees.

The woman pinched a smile in return, but took the time to flick her eyes towards Sam and Dean. She lingered on Dean and leaned into the counter as she did, showing off her cleavage. Gen watch the show, non-plussed and indifferent. She reached into her charcoal suit jacket and fished out the fake ID.

"We'd like to ask a few questions about a tenant you had a few nights ago," she said flashing the badge. She heard the brothers behind her do the same. "Sorry, my name is Agent Bennet. These are Bingley and Collins. What's your name?"

"Sandy," she drawled. Gen pulled out the picture of the victim.

"Sandy, did you talk to this woman at all?" Gen asked.

"Huh, maybe," Sandy shrugged, and pouted lazily. She raised an eyebrow. Gen's eyebrow twitched in response, and she tried to take a not-too-deep breath, to not set her jaw already, before she went on.

"Do you remember how she might've been when you saw her?" she tried again, easing like some school counsellor.

"I'll talk to him," she smirked, eyeballing Dean as she started to bounce her leg.

Gen's expression went dead, and thousand-mile stare landing on Sandy. "Sure sweetheart," Gen turned, "he's a very good listener. Collins? Would you?"

Dean winced at her. He'd been politely smiling at Sandy, not ignoring but not encouraging. It wasn't the task that he resented, it was Gen's willingness to hand it over. Genevieve left the foyer, and waited outside, uninterested in watching a wankfest. She glanced back a few times, noted Dean's ass sticking out, true to form, as he leaned on the counter to "interview" Sandy. Sam shifted his weight uncomfortably, flashing Gen a well-worn face of patient pain.

When they left the foyer, Genevieve began to head for the car. As Dean made up the ground behind her he grumbled "What the hell was that, Genny?" as her passed by. She wasn't keen on that pet name.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"What the hell was that?!" he asked, now turning to look at her.

"What are you talking about?" she stopped, confused and annoyed.

"She was all over me!"

"Okay," she acknowledged, still unsure of what was going on.

"Would it have killed you to throw out a 'He's with me'?!" he barked and stropped off to the driver's door.

"What? You want me to play girlfriend to get you out of a flirty interview? Since when?" Gen asked, incredulous and still confused.

"What?! No!" Dean looked at her, so annoyed and now annoyed with himself. He shook his head and brushed her off. "Whatever. Forget it… Oh, and who the hell is Collins?"

Gen looked at Sam and his wallpaper impression. They both got in the car and she looked out the window, frowned out the window as she became more and more sure of what Dean really meant. It would keep.

Back at the hotel, everyone slammed their car door. No one had spoken, but not for want of something to say.

"Can I talk to you a minute?" Genevieve muttered, glaring at Dean.

"Yes you can," he ground out.

She let them into her room and turned to face Dean as she threw her key on the table.

"So, one more time: what?" she demanded.

"Why did you hand me over to her like that?" he demanded, loud and fuming.

"Why wouldn't I? She wanted to flirt. You flirt!" Gen answered. She wasn't quite as flustered at Dean, but she was defensive.

"Happy to just whore me out to women are you?"

"You're frikken amazing, Winchester, you know that?" Gen shook her head, scolding him, almost beginning to pace. "You're killing me."

"Oh really," he said pathetically, "I'm killing you."

Then Genevieve turned on him, pointing. "You said it was a fling! A fling! Not, ooh gee," she looks at her watch, "20 hours ago you were in this room saying, and I quote, 'We'll just have a fling, Gen.' I said okay. 'I'll walk out that door and it'll be just like it was,' you said. And I said okay. So why are you so bent today?"

"Well, it was really good!" he exclaimed, expecting that to reveal everything.

"That's what flings are meant to be, Dean... How many not-good flings have you had?"

He's distracted momentarily, but quickly throws it off and snaps back. "I just thought that, you know, by the time we got to this morning, it was- different. "

"Why?"

"That's just what I thought, okay?" he threw his hands up and started to pace, running his hand through his hair and pulling on his neck. "I lost track of what I was doing," he said, half to himself.

Gen peered at him suspiciously. It had been good, scarily good. So good that she didn't think it could be recreated. Locking it in as a once-off almost relieved the pressure.

She'd hunted with these guys long enough to watch Dean bounced of beds and babes with abandon. His criteria was female, keen and able. Gen was happy to have some once-off fun but she knew she wasn't built for anything in between. For her it's either all or one thing.

She strode toward him, interrupting his reverie and got her finger up in his face. "I'm not interested in you shifting the goal posts on me, Winchester. I won't be stuffed around. Figure out what you want and be clear." And she walked away before their electric closeness morphed into oh damn. She wasn't sure things were 'like they had been', at all.

Going back to the fridge, she pulled out a few beers, cracked them both and put one on the neutral space of the table.

"You wouldn't want anything else?" Dean asked, not sure of how to ask for something without giving anything up.

Genevieve just peered at him and she leaned against the counter and took a sip. She didn't want to answer that yet.

"I thought you'd have an opinion about that woman tickling my ear. Did you see that?" he added. He was starting to get his swagger back.

"I got all sorts of things to say about that," Gen levelled, "but I understood you didn't want to hear about it."

"Well, sometimes it's nice to hear someone say "He's mine"," he confessed calmly, watching to see how she'd react. He drank and waited.

They were beginning to get back to their usual easy conversation. When they had first met, Gen and Dean had played with each other on the theme of over-sharing. They would challenge each other to be grossed out or aghast. If Dean asked "Why so squeamish?" she would share "New brand of pads. And they suck." If she'd wondered aloud about a suspect's apparent sub kink he would wink out a "don't knock it till you tried it, babe". But always the other would shrug an unflinching "Huh," and keep on keeping on. Sam had learned to tolerate it.

But then, over the months, it had turned into simple honesty. They hadn't done any retrospective confessions, or told their life stories, but they knew how the other felt each day. They'd slipped into being an old couple from day one and let the other be whoever they were.

"I'm never gunna say that, you know," she said, relaxing a bit. Dean walked over to her and leaned against the counter just a little out of arm's reach, knowing she had something to add. "I'd say "He's my boyfriend" or say whatever that person is, but it's a role. I don't own them." She was trying to ignore his heavy gaze.

"I'd like someone to know that I think I'm theirs," he said, before another swig. "It's not possession. It's belonging."

"Okay," Gen said, rolling her eyes, "well, next time we get down to skins I'll be sure to leave a flag planted on your ass. See how you feel about that."

She smiled at him easily, happy to forget how much their friendship might've been ruined by the last day's actions.

"I wouldn't mind people knowing that I belonged to a woman like you," he said casually and he turned to take off his jacket and hang it over a chair. It was a pretty big flirt.

Genevieve looked uncomfortable. "Dean," she said uncertainly.

"What?" he replied, smiling to ease her into sharing.

"Why are you even interested in me?" she sighed, pleading, "I don't understand!"

"Excuse me?"

"Just," she knew she risked insulting him here, "I know women rate themselves kinda low, but I'm not like the type you usually collect. I'm awkward! I have a big nose and sometimes a double chin and I make goofy faces when I talk about stuff and I'm just... so rarely sexy."

Dean leaned on the back of a chair, content to watch her dig her own hole.

"It's not that I'm rough or anything, I know I'm not hard to look at, as such, but those women are so... hot. They have boobs till Tuesday and they're tall and so sexually assertive, and confident. I'm not that."

By now Dean had come back to his spot against the counter, and was smiling, bemused.

"Ugh," she resigned, "sorry, I just... You're a nine and I feel like such a six when I with you. Not always, just today, really."

"Well that's a load of crap," Dean said sternly, "I would never sleep with a six." He held back the Nine, what the hell?

Gen looked at him flatly. "Yeah, okay. You can add idiot to that list."

"You are confident," he nodded at her, "you haven't seen yourself in action. That's one of your hottest qualities."

She looked at her drink and wondered if she could drink away her stupidity.

"Let's go on a date," Dean said cheerily.

She winced, pulling one of those goofy faces. "Really?" she asked, almost whining. "What kind of date?"

"A date date. You got a nice dress?"

"Ugh," she slumped, "yeah, I s'pose. Yes." Such a confession.

"What's the problem?" Dean laughed.

"It's just, I wear a dress and I've gotta do the haaair and make-uuup and it takes like niiinety minuuuutes and... it just doesn't seem to make that much difference," she shrugged, slinking against the bench. Gen never really understood why poeple got so blown away by a bride or a red carpet outfit. It was beautiful, sure, a nice dress is a nice dress but settle down folks, you can still tell who the hell it is. Same old person. Different bucket.

"I'll be back at eight," he was insisting. He turned for the door and Gen followed him as he reached for the handle.

"Okay, but seriously, Dean, I rarely do all that. It's a big deal for me and I'm not very good at it," she said, her tone moving from pleading to warning. "If I rock up, all done up to the nines, and you say "Meh, 6.5" I will clock you so hard…"

Dean chuckled to himself, a knowing smile spreading. He stepped back toward her, near and warm. She breathed in on the closeness, adjusting her expression to something between her feelings of hope and disbelief. "Gen, that ain't gunna happen. You're a ten without your clothes. They're what bring you down."

She almost burst at the cheesiness of it, but before she could even close her eyes he kissed her, hand on her waist to pull her close. Both of them lost moments in flashbacks to the night before – the easy fun, the jokes, and the gripping, grasping, gasping peaks. And then it was the softness of now, and how they'd gotten to the bottom of familiar smells already. They breathed each other in and tilted the kiss, tasting each other again.

She was never quite sure about him till he did it. And then he was so convincing.

Dean opened the door and paused to ask her "Do you really want things to be just like they were before?"

Gen wasn't sure what he hoping for... "Sorta doesn't matter, does it?" she figured, with just a bit of cheek. "What we had before still led to last night... sooo..."

"See you at eight," he said and left.