A/N: I am beyond grateful to everyone who is still reading along with this story even though I'm not the world's most reliable updater. You all are the best. 3

As always, this chapter is legible because Bethany is kind and generous enough to offer her beta expertise. I would be lost without her. :)

If he'd known that the resort's restaurant had such a romantic vibe, he would've suggested that they go to the bar and split a plate of potato skins instead.

But the waiter is already pulling out Annie's chair and setting the menus on the table by the time Jeff fully takes in the candlelight and moody piano music and large sprays of flowers everywhere. Like him and Annie, though, all of the other diners are dressed casually, in ski sweaters and jeans, but he's willing to bet that the majority are hoping to capitalize on the dim lighting and free-flowing wine to get lucky later.

He certainly wouldn't mind getting lucky himself, but Annie made it clear that she wants this trip to be entirely professional and completely above board and he isn't about to try to talk her into changing her mind.

It was enough of a victory to get her out on the slopes this afternoon, and some part of him knows, however reluctant he may be to admit it, that he had more fun just skiing with her than he's had with a woman in bed in a long, long while. (Well, maybe since that night a few months back when he stumbled into L Street to lick his wounds in solitude and found Annie instead.) It's why, the awkwardness of the setting aside, he knows that he'll be content to sit across the table from her and make polite conversation about nothing in particular, without needing anything more.

When the waiter asks if she'd like to see the wine list, Annie declines and orders a seltzer with lime. He figures he should be on his best behavior too, and asks for the same. She looks a little surprised, but stays quiet, so he wonders if she's feeling a little weird about the ambiance too.

She looks up at him then, and her cheeks may be a little wind-chapped from their afternoon of skiing, but in the dim candlelight, she just looks like she's glowing - and Jeff immediately has second thoughts. There she is across the table, looking like she just stepped out of a Renaissance painting, and his head goes fuzzy without even a drop of alcohol in his bloodstream. Maybe he needs a bucket full of booze to numb him completely.

"So…" Annie says, fiddling with her silverware. "Is there something you've been meaning to tell me?"

He panics, his heart stuttering in his chest, because there must be at least a half dozen things he should tell her, and the fact that she's guessed at any one of them means he's as transparent as a damn piece of glass. "Excuse me?"

For a moment, he wonders if she's thinking the same thing that Alan did - that he hustled her out of town so he could nail her without anyone at Hamish, Hamish, Hamlin, & Hawthorne knowing about it. He thinks that she knows him better than that, but then, it's not like he hasn't done stuff like that in the past and he doesn't know what kind of gossip she's heard about him around the proverbial water cooler.

"Troy and Britta?" she prods. "The thing going on with them. From what Britta said, you know all about it."

He laughs, so stupidly relieved that he can't help himself. "I don't know all about it. I know they've seen each other a couple of times. When I asked her about it, she admitted that she's into him … but that was like pulling teeth, and I don't particularly care, so..."

"You still should've told me. Our friends are dating, and I just think-"

"They're hooking up, Annie. I don't think it's anything more than that."

She shakes her head. "Troy doesn't hook up. I mean, he gets attached really easily and is about as loyal as they come. So if they're together, it's more than just hooking up. For him, anyway."

"Maybe. I wouldn't really know." Jeff shrugs. "Whatever's going on, I just hope they don't drag us into the middle when it all goes to hell."

Annie frowns over the rim of her glass. "That's a pretty pessimistic view to take," she says. "Why would you assume that it's going to fall apart? Maybe they're perfect for each other."

In that moment, he really wishes that he'd ordered some scotch or at least a beer, anything to dull his senses a bit so he's not as present for this discussion.

"Statistics are on my side," he tells her. "Pretty much all relationships end. That's a fact."

Across the table, her eyes widen, something like fear passing over her features. "I don't know if ..."

"Come on, you know I'm right. My parents split up… and yours did too, right? Your thing with Vaughn didn't work out. Because when things get tough, it's easier to leave than try to work it out. So what's the point?"

She frowns, shaking her head. "That's not why I broke up with Vaughn. We just didn't want the same things anymore. There wasn't any way to work that out."

Jeff lifts a shoulder. "Semantics."

"And I guess I still think that it's worth it," she says, ignoring him. "You know, whatever happiness you might get, for however long you get it. It doesn't have to be forever to be meaningful."

It seems like divine intervention when the waiter reappears to take their order because Jeff isn't entirely sure what to say to that. The truth is that he thinks it's pretty stupid and self-destructive to invest in anyone who isn't going to stick around for the long haul, and because he doesn't think the long haul ever really happens, there's little point in giving up even the smallest part of himself up at all.

But then, he listens to Annie order a grilled cheese sandwich and bowl of tomato soup, watches her smile at the waiter's lame joke, and he can't see any way to walk away at the moment.

It's a fucking pain-in-the-ass contradiction that's impossible to figure out.

She looks up at him, her brow slightly furrowed like she just might be guessing at the contents of his mind, and he panics, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. "So… when did you know you wanted to be a lawyer?"

Of all the ridiculous, embarrassing, first-date kind of crap he could be spewing, he's pretty sure that takes the cake. Annie blinks, clearly caught off guard.

"Oh, um, I don't think it was until after high school," she says. "I mean, I was on the debate team from freshman year on and I really liked it, because arguing with people and proving I was right was a lot of fun." She pauses, squinting thoughtfully. "You know, looking back, it's probably because I was carrying around a lot of anger and debating was a socially acceptable way to fight and challenge other people."

Jeff nods. "Yeah, I can see that."

"And then in college, I randomly took a law class and something kind of clicked." She shrugs. "Part of it was the fact that my parents had always wanted me to go into medicine and I wanted to stick it to them by choosing something completely different. And once I decided to be a lawyer, there was no turning back." She leans in closer across the table, smiling slyly, like she's confessing a secret. "I don't know if you've noticed this about me," she faux whispers. "But I tend to have a one-track mind... so it's pretty much impossible for me not to see something through to the end once I've started."

He grins back at her. "You know, I think I may have noticed something like that."

They look at one another across the table for a long moment, and for the first time in his life, he thinks that he knows what it's like for time to bend, for the seconds to stretch so they feel like an eternity and then speed up so there just doesn't seem to be enough of them.

It is trippy, even though there is nothing coursing through his veins at the moment but endorphins.

"What about you?" she asks then, and he wonders if she's forgotten the conversation that they had about his parents' divorce shortly after they started working together - and the idea of that hurts in a way that he doesn't really understand. "What did you want to be when you were little?" she clarifies, smiling softly.

He laughs a bit. "I don't know. Who remembers that kind of stuff?"

"Oh, come on. You know, when you're in grade school and they make you dress up as what you want to be for Career Day … or middle school when they make you research the career so you know all the necessary education." She smiles a little, remembering. "First, I did want to be a doctor, because my pediatrician, Dr. Hernandez, was the smartest person I knew, but then I wanted to be the Queen of England, and later it was-"

"Whoa, whoa. Back up a sec," Jeff says, laughing. "The Queen of England?"

Annie lifts a casual shoulder. "Everyone else wanted to be a princess, and I thought, why be a princess when you can be the actual Queen?"

He nods, smiling. "Yeah, sure. I can see that. But why England?"

"My third-grade best friend Marley Sampson's mother was British. Her family would spend every summer in London so I guess it seemed like a pretty cool place. That's probably why I wanted to be Sherlock Holmes next…"

"I did say you'd make a good detective, didn't I?"

She grins, because she always receives praise with the keenest pleasure, and reaches across the table to tap his hand. "So come on already… spill it. What did you want to be? You know, before you were too cool for school."

"You really want to know?" It's his turn to smile then because she nods so enthusiastically, and he can't remember anyone ever seeming so interested in what he had to say before. "An astronaut," he tells her.

When she laughs, it is a surprisingly bright sound, even over the piano music, the chatter of other tables' conversations, and the clink of silverware. "Seriously?"

He nods. "Yeah. Why not? They're the epitome of cool. Like outer-space cowboys or something. That's a pretty appealing idea to an eight year-old."

She squints, considering the idea for a moment. "I guess so... so what happened? What made you give up on the dream?"

"Well, it turned out that I sucked at science and math. You know, all those kinds of things that astronauts usually need to know," he says. "Then my parents split up and I realized how cool being a lawyer was. And when I got to high school, I realized I was pretty good at talking people into stuff, convincing them to do what I wanted while making them think it was all their idea, and that's a skill set that works pretty well for a lawyer, so…"

"What were you convincing people to do back then?" Annie asks, a teasing gleam in her eyes. "Get in the backseat of your car and take off their tops?"

He smirks. "I'll have you know that, like you, I was a member of the debate team. Well, technically, I was only an alternate member of the James B. Seaver High debate team, but still."

Her eyes widen in surprise, and she looks almost impressed. "Really? Your mother didn't have any photos of that in her scrapbooks."

"Of course, I mainly joined because there was this hot girl, Meghan Bailey, who I wanted to get to know better." He shrugs. "It worked like a charm, though, because I was able to convince her that she wouldn't regret a trip to the backseat of my car."

Annie huffs out a laugh, a cross between amused and outraged, and kicks at his ankle beneath the table. "Oh, you're such a jerk! Though it seems like something you'd do - pretend to be interested in debate just to get the chance to break some girl's heart."

"Hey, I didn't break Meghan's heart. I took her to the junior prom actually. Probably would have taken her to the senior prom too, if she hadn't broken my heart by moving to Montana."

Annie's expression softens, and she shakes her head. "Wow, I didn't expect you to be the type to have a high-school sweetheart. You're full of surprises."

"What about you?" he asks. "Who was the great high-school love of your life?"

He doesn't know what possesses him to ask, why it's something he's genuinely curious about, but the color that rises in her cheeks makes him think the story must be pretty good.

"Well, technically, I had this boyfriend, Evan, for two years but he was actually gay… so if I'm being honest…" She cocks her head back and forth, like she's trying to find the best way to convey the information, then practically whispers, "Troy."

Jeff furrows his brow, convinced he must have misheard her. "Troy? As in, your roommate Troy? The one who thought he could use Roman candles to light your birthday cake? That Troy?"

She nods, wincing. "I had a pretty awful crush on him in high school but he didn't know I existed. Then we both wound up at Greendale and actually became really good friends."

"Wow, I never would've…" He studies her for a moment, trying to make sense of this new information. Having met Vaughn, Jeff knows he never would've pegged the guy as any kind of rival for Annie's attention, but Troy is even more of a surprise. He still hasn't managed to figure out how she manages to live with Troy - and Abed - without pulling her hair out, so anything else really doesn't compute. "Wait," he says. "So is it weird for you then? If something does happen with him and Britta?"

She shakes her head without hesitation. "Nope. Of course not. I haven't had those feelings for him since I was seventeen," she declares. "What about you? Is it weird for you because you and Britta used to … be an item?"

When she looks at him now, she seems almost shy, her eyes darting away from his whenever they meet., It occurs to him what they're really asking one another, and he feels something inside him tying in knots. He knows what it means, and that it's all becoming something he can't take back, but he still can't stop himself.

"We weren't an item," he tells her. "I mean, it was never about those kinds of feelings anyway… so, no. Not even a little."

Annie gives a slow and thoughtful nod of her head, smiling softly. "Good," she says. "Good. So neither of us feels weird."

He nods. "Not even a little."

-x-

The hardest part of packing for the trip was trying to decide what pajamas to bring.

It's not like Annie expected to spend time with Jeff at bedtime, but it was important to project a professional image the entire time and she couldn't predict what might happen - like a middle of the night fire drill in the hotel or an emergency appendicitis. She didn't have a set of sedate silk pajamas that would really fit the bill and she couldn't see going out to buy a pair just for one overnight trip so she had to choose amongst the Old Navy pajamas pants and simple tank tops that she normally wore. Her favorites - the pairs dotted with polar bears, penguins, kittens wearing top hats, or balloons - were definitely a no-go, so she'd gone with a basic purple and blue plaid design and a black camisole, but not the one with the lace trim. She decided that leaned a little too much toward lingerie to be appropriate.

As she prepares herself to knock on the connecting door between her and Jeff's rooms, though, she looks down at her get-up and wonders if it really shows that she means business. Despite the fact that they took the afternoon off to ski, Jeff has behaved so professionally that he's been above reproach. She knows that his impulse control isn't quite as strong as it used to be, at least as far as she is concerned, so she's almost surprised that he hasn't tried to kiss her, whisper in her ear, or even take advantage of the romantic setting at dinner.

All of which means that he took to heart her words about keeping things professional on this trip.

And strangely enough, that's seemed to have rendered her with a little less control over her impulses than usual.

What can she say? A man who actually listens to her and respects what she wants, without trying to talk her into changing her mind, is a serious turn-on.

So as she finally raps her fist against the door, she finds herself thinking about what Britta said - life is short and sometimes doing what you feel is the right thing. Hell, maybe it's even the smart thing.

It's not like Jeff will think she's trying to advance her career if she sleeps with him, and she can trust him not to brag about it to anyone back at the office, so she isn't entirely sure why it's so difficult to give in to what she wants.

When Jeff opens the door, he is still mostly dressed from dinner. He's pulled off his sweater, messing up his hair a bit along the way, so he's just in a plain white tee shirt that's snug enough to remind her how good he looks without his clothes on. He's unbuckled his belt and undone the top button on his jeans too, so she tells herself that she's just going to tell him good night and walk away from temptation before she does something that she can't take back.

"Hey," he says, smiling. "Did you see the hot tub out on the terrace? I was just thinking about getting in. I'm pretty sure I jammed my shoulder when I fell on that black diamond slope so I feel like I earned it."

Annie steps into the room and sees that he's left the French doors to the patio area slightly open. The hot tub is on, steaming into the darkness. The sky above is peppered with delicate, glimmering stars, and the wall of bushes around it is glazed over with a sheen of snow, and it seems like a scene out of those tawdry romance novels her Aunt Frannie always loved, and her mind instantly goes to all the places that it shouldn't.

She forces herself to shake her head. "I don't know," she tells him. "I've never really understood the whole 'outdoor hot tub in the snow' thing. I mean, I know the water's hot but there's still that one point where you're outside in freezing temperatures, in next to nothing, before you actually hit the water. Doesn't seem worth it."

"You put on one of those robes," he says, gesturing back toward the fluffy terry cloth robe draped over the room's easy chair. "And take it off right before you get it. It's a few seconds at most."

She eyes the tub skeptically and shrugs. "It doesn't really matter anyway. I didn't bring a bathing suit."

Jeff bites at his lip, like he's trying hard to keep from laughing or smirking. "I've got at least a half-dozen responses to that running through my head, but I'm pretty sure you'd say they're all inappropriate, so I'm going to exhibit some serious self-control and not say a word."

"But you're still thinking them," she teases.

He shrugs. "Well, yeah. I'm only human, Annie."

She considers him for a moment, standing across from her with his hands at his hips. He is right, of course. He is utterly human, as flawed and complicated and maddening as anyone she's ever met, but there is a tenderness to him, a vulnerability that goes bone deep, that he hides from nearly everyone. He's allowed her to see glimpses of it, let it show through the cracks in his facade, and she can't help but feel privileged, like it's something that she shouldn't take it for granted.

"You've been very professional," she says. "All day. I've noticed."

Jeff grins. "You say that like you're surprised."

"I'm serious. You took what I said yesterday to heart and I just … I really appreciate it."

There must be something about the look in her eyes that convinces him of her sincerity because he lowers his head, like he can't quite handle the heaviness of her gaze, and scratches at the back of his neck. "Well, you know I respect you and I wouldn't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. And I know how important this trip is to you, for both of us, really, so I'm just trying to-"

She isn't entirely sure what possesses her - except maybe that he is being stupidly sweet and just as genuine as she is, and he looks good enough to eat in his tee shirt - but she launches herself at him, curling her hands over his broad shoulders and practically climbing him like he's a jungle gym on a playground so she can seal her mouth over his.

He barely moves at first, clearly stunned and frozen in place like time has stopped around him. When she licks at his lower lip, though, it seems to jumpstart him, and he wraps one arm around her lower back and fists his other hand in her hair to pull her closer. He moves his mouth over hers slowly but urgently, kissing her so deeply that he steals the breath from her.

She is pretty sure that no one has ever wanted her quite like this before.

Jeff spins around, throwing her world off its axis in a dizzying rush, and sets her down on the small writing desk in the nearest corner. She keeps her legs wrapped around his hips, grinding herself against him in a rhythm that he matches perfectly. Her skin feels hot and tight, like it's suddenly a size too small, and taking off her clothes seems like the only solution, so she pulls away quickly to whip her tank top over her head and drop it to the floor.

For a moment, Jeff looks dazed, like he can't quite believe what's happening and doesn't know what to do. He rubs his thumb absently over her cheekbone, and the way that he's looking at her, like she is the best thing that he's ever seen, leaves her feeling feverish, as if she's burning from the inside out.

She thinks of their interlude in the coat room at the Christmas party suddenly, because this feels just as good, just as right - except there isn't a room full of their co-workers just on the other side of the door. It's just the two of them, alone in this room, and there is no reason to stop if she doesn't want to.

So she grabs the hem of his shirt, ready to yank it over his head so he can catch up to her, but his hand curls around her wrist to stop her. She meets his eyes and his pupils are blown wide, but there is something strangely serious about his expression. "I just …" he says, shaking his head. "Are you sure? You really want to do this?"

It is the last thing that she's expecting to hear for some reason, but it only makes her pull him closer, grab fistfuls of his shirt to keep him that way. "Yeah," she tells him, pressing her mouth to his jaw. "Yes. I'm sure. Really sure."

That's apparently all he needs to hear, because he tugs his own shirt over his head and throws it somewhere behind him. The room is cold, because Jeff's left the patio door open, but she is starting to sweat as he pulls her against him again, and her warm skin slides against his, and everything behind her eyes goes bright and fuzzy.

None of this is new exactly, because they've had sex before and she remembers it as a pretty first-rate experience, but somehow it feels different now, like the intensity has been ratcheted up to an almost painful max.

It's probably because that first night they met, they didn't know anything about each other, and now she knows so much of the stuff that makes him who he is, even the things that he tries so hard to hide, and he knows so many of her own secrets and insecurities and flaws and still likes and respects her all the same. So when he kisses his way down her neck and curves his hand over her breast to rasp his thumb against her nipple, it's with a kind of intimacy that makes the blood hum through her body until she's nearly shaking.

She reaches between them for his zipper, but Jeff lifts her off the desk and she has to grab at his shoulders to keep from falling. It's all worth it, though, when he finally carries her to the bed, where he sets her down so gently that it almost startles her.

He straightens then, and for a moment, he just stands at the foot of the bed, studying her. No matter what's happened between them, she can't help feeling slightly self-conscious so she busies herself with pushing off her pajama pants and underwear to distract herself. That gets Jeff moving too, and he crawls over her, trying to hold himself up so he doesn't put much of his weight on her. She wants that, though, the feeling of him grounding her to the bed, so she hikes a leg up over his hip and pulls him down with all of her strength. He gasps in surprise but she opens her mouth over his again, swallowing the sound.

There is nothing suffocating about the feel of him on top of her. It is somehow exciting and comforting all at the same time, but his jeans are still in the way and they don't give at all when she tries to shove them down with her toes.

"Jeff," she whines, pushing against him to try to get him to help.

"Shhh," he murmurs against her throat, his tongue tasting her skin, and for a second, she is actually about to protest at being shushed, but then his mouth makes its way down her chest and closes around the tip of her breast, and the sound that she makes is much closer to a grateful groan than a outraged huff, because she definitely has her priorities in order.

She fists her hands in his hair to keep him close in case he gets any ideas about moving on, and she's expecting it to be stiff, crunchy with expensive products, but his hair is so soft and smooth against her palms that she can't stop running her fingers through it. He kisses his way to her other breast and his hand curves around her hip, his thumb finding the sensitive spot that leaves her squirming against the bed - and that's the point where she's decided that she's had enough.

Or not enough, really.

She shoves against his shoulders as hard as she can, and he finally lifts his head, looking almost drunk, but she must look as determined as she feels because he lets her guide him until he's sitting up and she can finish undoing his jeans. They work together to get them and his boxer briefs off. She's in such a hurry to get him naked that she nearly elbows him in the nose.

For a second, they just look at one another. She knows that neither of them can believe that this is finally happening again, and they laugh together, too giddy to feel self-conscious.

Despite the fact that there are a hundred reasons why she shouldn't be doing this - earning herself a scarlet letter at the firm and risking the career that she's worked so hard for and putting their case in jeopardy - she won't feel guilty about it. Jeff looks at her like he sees every not-so-perfect part of her and still likes all of it. Maybe Vaughn did too, and maybe even Abed and Troy and her other friends do in their own way, but it's different with Jeff. He isn't the kind of guy to cut any slack so it seems to mean more, to make her feel confident in a way that she doesn't think she ever has before.

Maybe there are still times when she thinks it all comes down to sex, but she also knows that there are plenty of attractive women out there who would happily scratch whatever itch he might have. So if he wants her, he wants her. She understands that feeling, because he isn't just any warm, stupidly attractive body for her either. Everything about how desperate she is for him is all tied up in his brain and heart, which is probably why what they're doing now feels so much hotter than their first night together all those months ago, when they barely knew each other's names.

She doesn't really believe in fate anymore, and she isn't entirely sure what she thinks about God these days, either; but she likes to imagine that there's some kind of guiding force in the universe, and maybe it was looking out for her back then by having her meet Jeff Winger the night before she started work at Hamish, Hamish, Hamlin, & Hawthorne. She is pretty sure that she wouldn't have risked her career by sleeping with him after they started working together if there hadn't been a history there; if she didn't already know what it feels like to have the heavy, solid weight of him on top of her, his hands moving over body at a pace that is both too fast and too slow, his lips pressing against the spot on her throat where her pulse pounds until the blood surges through her body in a way that leaves her lightheaded.

Some part of her has remembered all of it, every day that they've been working together, and wondering when it would happen again.

She reaches for him then, sliding her fist over his erection, which practically throbs, hot and hard, against her palm. She thinks about how she'd like to take him in her mouth, slide her tongue over him until he can't see straight, but she tells herself there'll be time for that later. Right now, she wants to feel him inside her again, wants to ride him into oblivion until nothing else seems to matter but the point at which they're joined.

He must be reading her mind, because he wraps his hand around her wrist to stop the slow, deliberate rhythm she has going. "Keep that up and this'll be over before it starts," he tells her, in a ragged whisper, and she grins up at him like a fool.

Jeff blindly reaches toward the nightstand, grabbing for his shaving kit as he continues to blaze a hot trail over her throat with his mouth. "Got it," he declares suddenly, lifting his head to grin and wave a condom at her triumphantly, pretty damn proud of himself. She grips his chin so she can kiss him again, laughing into his mouth.

She can't believe that they've waited so long to do this again and she can't believe that anything could possibly feel this good.

Jeff tries to balance himself above on his elbow, even as his free hand curves around her breast again, and her skin goes up in flames once more, like there's a fire burning through her veins and her body can't quite contain it anymore. Her fingers clutch at his shoulders, wanting to press herself even closer to him.

When she grabs the condom from him and tears it open, her hands shake a little because she's so desperate, and Jeff makes a noise that's somewhere between a whimper and moan as she rolls it on. She scoots back against the pillows so there's room for him to crawl over her, but he rolls them over so she's on top, and when she finally sinks down over him, she finds him looking right at her. She's had this view of him once before, but everything about it feels new and thrilling, and she can only toss her head back and close her eyes and hope that it never ends.

-x -

Afterward, he can't catch his breath.

His heart is pounding like a damn runaway train and he's pretty sure that Annie's going to catch on because she's tracing patterns on his chest with the tip of her finger, her head pillowed on his shoulder where she pretty much collapsed once they were done. He wonders if she is etching some type of message into his skin, trying to tell him something that she can't seem to find the words to say out loud.

All he knows is that the way her hand moves over him nearly makes him shiver, despite the fact that he's sweating and flushed.

He's had great sex before - he knows perfectly well what that feels like - and what happened in this hotel bed was more than that. All the outside stuff, like his wheezy breath, stuttering heart, and still-tingling nerve endings, jibes with the usual aftereffects of a pretty intense orgasm. But he feels different on the inside too, like he's lonely now that they're separated again, in a way that he never could have understood just an hour ago.

Annie shifts, her warm breath ghosting over his chest. "I wasn't lying, you know."

As if on instinct, he feels himself tense, his muscles coiling up like they're readying for a fight or flight response. He wonders if he blacked out for a minute at some point, if she was sharing the deepest, darkest secrets of her heart as she came, and he was just too blissed out to hear any of it.

"Excuse me?" is what he manages to say.

She lifts her head, looking at him with those stunning, wide eyes of hers that are nearly paralyzing in their intensity. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is a tangled mess and he is certain that she's never been more beautiful. "The night we met," she says, "when I said I don't normally do things like this. I'm not really the sort of person who can sleep with someone like it's not a big deal, like it doesn't mean something."

It shouldn't surprise him that she'd worry about this, but he feels a little insulted all the same. And then he hears the annoying echo of all the things that Alan said this morning in his office. It occurs to him that he did exactly what Alan thought he was going to, and that maybe Annie thinks it's all about sex for him, that it's always been about sex, and nothing about what's happening between them ever has been any deeper than that.

If he's honest, there was even part of him that was hoping that's all it was - forbidden fruit and all that clichéd garbage. Jeff thought that maybe if he had the chance to sleep with her again, his head might clear and his focus would return and Annie Edison would just be another woman who'd occupied his attention for a little while (even if it was a little longer than usual).

But they've slept together again, and his head is still fuzzy, and Annie's name is still stuck on a loop in his head. He wants her again, but it's not just that.

It's something more that he doesn't even know how to name.

He must hesitate a little too long because she lowers her head, twisting an edge of the sheet between her fingers. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No. No, that's okay. I know this isn't just … I know this means something."

She looks up at him, the corner of her mouth lifting in an almost-smile. "Yeah?"

He nods. "But I've got a pretty shitty track record with this kind of stuff, so I hope you don't need to know exactly what it means tonight."

She shakes her head. "No, of course not. I just …" She grins for real now, drumming her fingers against the center of his chest. "I just want to be sure we're on the on the same page. Or at least in the same book."

"I think we are," he tells her, and he hopes that's true, even if he doesn't really know what he wants beyond spending more time with her.

"Good. So we agree that we can't let anyone know about this…"

He smiles, smoothing a hand over the back of her head. "You're that ashamed of me?" he teases.

She rolls her eyes with the kind of precision that makes it seem like an art form. "You know exactly what I mean," she says. "If this got around the office, you know the kinds of things people would say … about me, anyway. Because I'm a woman and you're above me at the firm. All the other first-years will think I'm trying to sleep my way to the top, and all the other partners will think I'm fair game."

"That's ridiculous," he declares, and though he absolutely means it, he know that she's right. Just this morning, Alan spewed a whole bunch of garbage when he was only assuming he knew what was going on between the two of them; if he knew it for a fact, it would only get much worse. "Anyone who spends five minutes with you would know that you're smarter and more dedicated than all the other first-year associates put together, and you'd never cut corners or take a shortcut to get to the top. Hell, you'll probably be Chairman of the firm before Hamilton even manages to settle the Kinkaid divorce, and their only real disagreement is who gets to keep seeing the family therapist…" Annie laughs, trying for a casual look, but there's a gleam in her eyes that makes it obvious she doesn't disagree. "Or maybe you've got political aspirations?" he continues. "So you'll probably make the Senate before Alan figures out how to turn the porn filter off on his computer."

She lifts a casual shoulder. "I'm not opposed to the idea of holding public office."

"Well, then, keep a speech-writing position open for me. I'm excellent at rousing speeches that are full of style but very little substance. You know, like most politicians."

Annie pushes up on an elbow, sliding her fingers over his stomach, her smile equal parts sweet and sultry. "You're good at a lot of things, actually," she whispers.

He grins. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

Without any warning, she climbs over him again, swooping down to kiss him. "Haven't I already been everywhere?" she practically purrs against his mouth.

It's his turn to surprise her then, rolling them over so she's under him once again and he can shove the sheets away. "Not quite," he tells her, and then he starts the slow descent down her body, stopping to kiss the underside of her breast, scrape his teeth against her stomach, suck at the sensitive spot on her hip that makes her giggle and squirm against the mattress.

There'll be time later to worry about what all of this means. Right now, he's got more important things to do.

-x-

Waiting for Deborah Wahlstrom for the second time in two days, Annie feels strangely calm.

It doesn't make much sense given that the case hangs just as much in the balance as it did yesterday when she and Jeff first came to meet this woman, but now she sits back comfortably on the sofa in Deborah's office beside him and feels completely prepared.

There is nothing Deborah Wahlstrom can throw at them that can rattle them at this point, she tells herself. Beside her, Jeff crosses one leg over the other as if he is in complete agreement.

The sex probably has something to do with it - if she's being honest anyway.

They're both calmer and more relaxed now that they've gotten all of that tension out of the way, which makes Annie wonder if she should have just given in weeks ago. Maybe by trying to resist the pull, she only left herself more distracted, more tense and edgy, and unable to give her best.

She looks over at Jeff, who is smiling faintly as he bounces his knee, and she is pretty sure what he would say if she asked him about that - which is precisely why she isn't going to share her thoughts on that particular subject.

As amazing as last night was, there is still something slightly strange about sitting next to him now. It's silly, because from the moment that they started working together, they've both been fully aware of the fact that they had sex, but it's all different now. They really know each other, and everything feels so much more intimate.

This morning, when she woke up in a bed that smelled like him, it was disorienting in the most most wonderful way. She could hear him in the shower singing a song that she couldn't quite identify, see his clothes folded carefully in a neat pile on the dresser across from the bed,, and she felt a pang of the silliest happiness she could ever remember. Jeff came out of the bathroom surrounded by a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped low around his hips, and when he smiled at her, softly and a little shyly, she knew that he felt the same thing.

It might be why she left the door between their rooms open a crack when she took her own shower, and bent over to kiss him as sweetly as possible when she got out of the bathroom and found him sitting at the corner table in her room, with a platter of fresh fruit and muffins and a pot of hot coffee in front of him. He wasn't running away from anything, wasn't trying to act like last night was some meaningless fling.

The door to the office swings open suddenly, pulling Annie out of her thoughts, and an auburn-haired woman strolls in, reading from a manila folder in her hands. She is wearing crisp jeans and a Fair Isle sweater in bright shades of pink, purple, and orange, so she looks more like a low-key employee of a ski resort than some high-powered marketing executive, and Annie wonders if this woman could really hold the key to everything for them.

"I'm so sorry to keep you waiting," she says distractedly. "I was out of the office yesterday so I'm trying to play catch up…" She drops the folder on the desk and turns to Jeff and Annie with a smile. "I'm Deborah Wahlstrom, head of marketing here at Aspen Pines. You two are the travel bloggers?"

Jeff stands, extending his hand for a polite shake. "I'm Jeff Winger. And this is my associate, Annie Edison."

Annie pushes to her feet and shakes Deborah's hand too. "Nice to meet you."

"Well, what would you like to know?" Deborah says, leaning back against the edge of her desk. "I'm happy to answer any questions you have. I'm always telling everyone around here that marketing's changing. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, blogs … that's what really doing the job these days."

Annie looks over at Jeff, feeling strangely guilty, but his expression is stubbornly blank. "Actually, Ms. Wahlstrom," he says, "We're not travel bloggers."

She furrows her brow and frowns. "No? I swear Cassie told me-"

"We're lawyers," Jeff tells her. "And we're representing Simon Rutherford in the federal case against him. We were hoping you would answer a few questions for us."

As soon as Rutherford's name leaves Jeff's lips, Deborah's entire demeanor changes - her muscles seem to tense up as she crosses her arms over her chest, and the line of her jaw sharpens like she's clenching her teeth. "Did he send you here?" she asks, in a low, careful voice.

"No. He doesn't know we're here, actually."

She shakes her head, laughing humorlessly. "No, I bet he doesn't. He wouldn't want you anywhere near here. Even if it meant saving his skin."

Jeff glances over at Annie, eyes narrowed shrewdly, before looking back at Deborah. "Could you?" he asks. "Save his skin, I mean."

"Hardly. Let's just say that when the news broke about him, I wasn't exactly surprised." She shrugs. "Nothing he does could really surprise me at this point."

"My father worked with you," Annie says, feeling like they might need an in. "John Edison. He said you were were one of the smartest people on the investment committee."

Deborah tilts her head. "John Edison," she repeats. "Oh, I remember John. I always liked him…" She studies Annie for a moment. "You look a little like him, actually. He must be very proud… you being a successful lawyer, working such a big case."

"That's very kind of you to say." Annie smiles politely, but the other woman looks away, like this type of benign small talk doesn't interest her in the least.

"Look, I assume you're here because someone told you about Simon and me. That we were having an affair. And you want to dig up all the dirt."

Jeff's impassive mask doesn't slip for even a moment, and Annie is reminded once again just how much of a pro he is. "You're saying it's not true, then?"

Deborah hesitates, contemplating the floor as she fidgets in front of her desk. "It's true." Her head snaps up then, and she pins Jeff with a steely gaze that makes Annie more than a little nervous. "And I know exactly what you're thinking, because it's what all of them always thought. But I didn't sleep with him because I thought I'd get ahead. I slept with him because I thought he was the most interesting man I'd ever met. And once upon a time, I actually loved him."

Her voice nearly cracks around the word loved, like it hurts her just to spit the word out, so Annie thinks she understands exactly how much the admission is costing Deborah. "How long were you two involved?" she asks gently.

Deborah shrugs. "Years. From the beginning of my time at the Pine Brook, really. And I knew people were talking. I knew what they were saying, so I worked twice as hard as any of them to prove that no matter what was going on after hours, I'd earned my job."

Jeff nods solemnly, but Annie can see the fire in his eyes. He might be feeling somewhat sympathetic to Deborah's plight, but he isn't about to let that deter him from doing what needs to be done. "So you were intimately involved with him for years but you never knew anything about millions of dollars going missing from his funds?"

The corner of Deborah's mouth twitches and she laughs darkly. "Wait a second… are you accusing me of something?" she asks. "That's why you're here? You want to pin all of this on me?"

Annie shakes her head. "No. No, of course not. We're just-"

"We're trying to figure out what happened," Jeff says. "To get to the truth. That's all."

"Well, then," Deborah says, looking at Annie. "I'm sure your father told you that around the time frame you're looking at, Simon pretty much took complete control over investment allocation. We still had an investment committee but it was pretty much in name only."

Jeff smiles blandly. "But even you have to admit that the timing of everything is pretty coincidental. Less than a year after the money starts disappearing, you were let go from Pine Brook and no one seems to know why. That's what-"

"I wasn't let go," Deborah snaps. "I left. I threw my letter of resignation in Simon's face and never looked back." She shakes her head. "And if you really think I was involved somehow, then why did the money keep disappearing years after I'd gone?"

Annie looks over at Jeff, because Deborah's got them there. That is the one piece of the puzzle that definitely doesn't make sense if they want to paint her as a viable alternative to Rutherford as a suspect. Jeff doesn't let on that there's a weak link, though. He just shrugs, smirking in his maddening way.

"Why did you leave, then?" he asks. "If you didn't suspect that anything was going on, what made you walk away?"

For a long moment, Deborah doesn't say anything; she barely even moves. It's easy to imagine how difficult this all is for her - if someone put Annie on the spot right now and asked her to explain exactly why she ended things with Vaughn, it would be uncomfortable in the extreme. Here she and Jeff are, perfect strangers to Deborah Wahlstrom, asking her to share the private details of her past. It isn't fair at all.

"I was with him for years," she finally says, her voice low and strained. "And I guess I always assumed he loved me enough that one day he'd be strong enough to be honest with his wife, be honest with everyone, so we could really build a life together. But I came to realize what kind of man he really was and I didn't want anything to do with him anymore."

"What kind of man is he?" Jeff asks. "In your experience?"

Deborah tilts her head back, and it's obvious that she's going to laugh again - until there's a soft knock on the office door and a silver-haired woman pokes her head inside, smiling. "So sorry to interrupt, Debbie, but Owen wouldn't go back to the house without saying goodbye."

The older woman steps into the room, holding a toddler in a puffy yellow ski jacket in her arms. He reaches out his arms in Deborah's direction as soon as he sees her. "Mama!"

She takes him into her arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Are you gonna be a good boy and go home to play with Nana?" He nods his head frantically and pats his hands against her shoulders. "Okay, then I'll see you later…"

There is more hugging and some sloppy kisses, and Annie looks over at Jeff, who is wearing the same curious expression that she is. He must be doing the math too, thinking about the little boy's nearly black hair and icy eyes and how familiar they seem.

When Owen and his grandmother leave, Deborah closes the door behind them once more. She keeps her back to Jeff and Annie for a second, almost like she is trying to brace herself for what's to come.

"That might clear some things up for you," she says finally, turning. "He didn't want me to have the baby, said he didn't want any more kids. He told me that if I insisted on having the kid, then he'd have to send me away, transfer me to the firm's office in London or Singapore." She shrugs. "So I said screw you and left."

For once, Jeff looks a little stunned, his brow furrowed tightly, and Annie wonders if he is thinking of his own father. She can't help thinking of hers either - she wonders what Deborah Wahlstrom would think if she knew that John Edison is nearly as big a deadbeat as Simon Rutherford. He might have waited 17 years to do the abandoning, but he'd done it all the same.

"He's never met his son?" Annie asks. "He hasn't reached out to you to-"

"He's sent child support from an offshore account every month since I left," Deborah says. "But I tear every check up and send it right back. Even the past five months, when all of his assets are supposedly frozen, he's found a way to send money. But I don't want any of it. If he doesn't want to be a real father, he can just take it and …" She trails off, lowering her head again.

Still, it's hard to ignore the glassy look in her eyes, and Annie has to look away, feeling almost ashamed. Jeff stands suddenly, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I'm sorry we brought all of this up," he says quietly. "We didn't mean to … we were just trying to get some… I'm sorry."

Deborah crosses her arms over her chest again and sighs. "You're just doing your job. I'm sure Simon's paying you big bucks to get him off. But none of this will help your case."

Jeff nods, like he's already reached that conclusion on his own. When Annie follows him out of the office a few moments later, she finds herself wishing that they'd never made this trip, that they'd never found Deborah Wahlstrom at all.

-x-

Annie barely says five words to him after they leave Aspen Pines.

They go back to their resort to pick up their bags, wait for the car service in the lobby, ride the ten minutes to the airport, and she hardly even looks at him. She keeps her gaze lowered, focused on her lap or her boots, and the expression on her face is nothing less than miserable.

Jeff thinks that he understands. He was so sure that they'd be celebrating on the way home, toasting with overpriced champagne and practicing the victorious soundbites they'd feed reporters when Rutherford's acquitted. Instead, the case is falling apart right before their eyes and there's nothing he can do about it.

Well, that's not entirely true.

There is something he could do about it. He could still spin everything that they've learned in a way that makes Deborah Wahlstrom look guilty, throw her under the bus to save Rutherford's ass, without even breaking a light sweat.

But something about that doesn't seem right. That douchebag abandoned his kid and rewarded Deborah's love and loyalty with an indifference that's both stunning and chilling, so it's difficult to think that anyone should be sacrificed for his benefit.

And the fact is, Jeff is good enough and smart enough and slick enough to find something else to save this case. There's always part of him that thrives on a challenge like that, on rising to the occasion when no one else can.

If he's honest, though, there's this nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, a kind of hollow emptiness, that tells him he's quickly losing the thrill for all of it with this case. Sure, there's plenty of good incentive - getting promoted to full partner, helping Annie establish herself at the firm, and having the upper hand over Alan once and for all are all pretty compelling in their own right - but Rutherford's clearly an unrepentant bastard and that takes a lot of the fun out of the whole thing.

Jeff gives himself until the plane touches down in Denver to get a hold of his annoying, conflicted emotions, which means he's got less than an hour to get himself in check. In the window seat beside him, Annie pulls a copy of The National Law Journal out of her bag and drops it down into her lap. She glumly opens it, flipping through a few pages, though it's obvious that she isn't really be reading a word in it. He knows that he should say something to her, deliver some sort of half-assed pep talk that will raise her spirits, but he's got no clue where to begin so he's giving himself the same landing-in-Denver deadline for that too.

He needs this plane to take off like yesterday, because he's got a feeling that he won't be able to shake himself out of his shitty mood without some booze coursing through his veins, and the flight attendants won't come around with the drinks until they're 35,000 feet in the air.

Annie must be just as impatient about taking off because she slams her journal shut suddenly and exhales loud enough for the folks back in coach to hear her. "So that's it," she says, throwing her hands up. "Simon Rutherford is totally guilty. We're defending a completely guilty man."

He sighs too, though it's a considerably softer sound. "Annie, nothing we found out today proves that Rutherford's guilty of anything other than being a deadbeat dad. Just because he's a scumbag who abandoned his kid doesn't mean he's a criminal."

She shakes her head. "The sort of man who could walk away from his own child like that, who doesn't even want to get to know him at all… well, I just think he could easily steal money from teachers and bus drivers without a second thought."

"It doesn't matter. Whether he's guilty or not, he still deserves adequate legal representation."

"It's really that easy for you?" she demands. "Because I'm having a hard time coming up with a single reason why we should fight for this guy."

"Everyone's entitled to a good defense," he says evenly. "You know that, Annie. They drill it into your head in law school… because it's the only way our legal system can work."

"But doesn't it make you feel awful?" she asks plaintively, and it's obvious that she's not going to let this go. She may have the perfectly tuned mind necessary for criminal defense, but he's started to wonder if she has the stomach for it, if her principled conscience and tender heart won't always stand in her way. (And when he considers the possibility that years at this work might actually chip away at those, might leave her numbed and indifferent to it all, like he is, he feels something like a shudder pass through him.) "Fighting for someone you know is guilty, helping them get away-"

"I told you," he says, as gently as he can. "You've gotta assume the client's innocent - pretend, if you have to. They're never gonna tell you they're guilty. They'll lie to you just like they lie to everyone else, so you lie to yourself too, if you have to."

Annie's quiet for a long moment, fiddling with the bent edge of the magazine in front of her. Her face is almost terrifyingly blank and pale, and he can't help but think of last night, when her eyes were as bright as stars and her skin burned hot like a fever, and he just wants to get back to that place. When she finally looks up at him, the corner of her mouth twitches, like she isn't quite sure whether to smile or frown.

"Be honest," she tells him. "If there wasn't something in it for you, the promotion to partner and that cushy office, would you still be so dedicated to getting Rutherford off?"

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, shrugging. "If we start deciding whether someone's guilty before they have a trial, all it means is that even more innocent people will get locked up. This is the way has to be."

She shakes her head, like she doesn't want it to be true - but it's what he tells himself if he ever feels the shame get a hold of him too tight. And it is true, he's sure of that, because if it isn't, then there's probably a shitload of bad karma headed his way.

Annie sighs, and it seems to echo loudly in the otherwise quiet plane cabin even as the aircraft starts to finally take off. "Can you imagine that?" she practically whispers. "A man walking away from an innocent little kid like that? Not caring enough to know what kind of person his son is going to become?"

Jeff lowers his head, rubbing his hands against his knees roughly. "I can," he mutters.

She huffs out another sigh, but this one sounds even more anguished, and she reaches out to lay her hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry," she says. "That was so insensitive. Of course you can."

He curls his hand over hers, rubbing his thumb against the hard ridge of her wrist. "We both can, right?"

She nods her head almost imperceptibly but looks away in a hurry, like she really doesn't want to analyze her own childhood baggage at the moment. He gets it, because he feels exactly the same, which is probably why he tried to deflect by pointing out her own experience with shitty parents.

Fortunately, they reach the right altitude, and the 'fasten seat belts' light turns off, and the flight attendant starts taking drink orders. He asks for his usual single malt scotch, and Annie surprises him by telling the flight attendant to make it two. If he wasn't sure how shaken she was by this point, her sudden thirst for scotch would definitely do the trick - but she sips it serenely, like she welcomes the burn as it makes its way through her body.

"I can't stop thinking about Deborah," she confesses suddenly, clutching her glass in a tight fist. "And I mean, not just the fact that her son's father doesn't want anything to do with him, but that she had to give everything up because of her relationship with Rutherford. She had to walk away from her career and people are still gossiping about her to this day… it isn't fair."

Jeff nods solemnly, but doesn't respond - the world usually isn't fair. Annie should know that by now.

"That's what would happen to me," she tells him, in a low, hesitant voice. "If people knew that we … if they knew about us."

He looks at her as she studies the amber liquid in her glass and wonders why she let any of this happen if she really believes that. It doesn't seem worth the risk - he can't possibly be worth the risk.

"It's not going to happen to you," he tells her. "I won't let it happen to you."

He has no clue what he means and hopes that she won't question it. She lifts her eyes, which shine in the plane's dim light, and exhales slowly. She isn't looking at him like he's some kind of hero who will save the day for her; she's only looking at him like she understands that's what he wants to be, what he wishes he could be, and somehow that's enough for her. Her shoulders relax a bit, and she lifts the armrest between their seats so she can scoot a little closer to him.

She curls herself into his side, and he wraps his arm around her. She presses her face against him then, and he can feel her cheek warm against his chest. "Everything's a mess," she whispers into his shirt.

"We'll figure something out," he whispers back.