A/N: So, I know this is my first one-shot in eons. It's been a long crazy summer, guys. I decided to do a song fic. The song is 'Here we Go again' by the fabulous Demi Lovato. You don't have to like her or her voice to like the song. Just listen to it, guys. And, of course, read the fic. as you do so.

It should be mentioned that this was written in second person, so it's sort of an experiment. The point is to put yourself in the character's shoes. It was hard to write, so please go easy on me if the results were not good.

And it's also a birthday present for my amazing fantastic friend, Biscuit Barrel. Beth, I know four months later is NO EXCUSE but I hope this fic makes up for it. Hopefully, there's enough Indy in here to satisfy! Love You!

I throw all of your stuff away
Then I clear you out of my head

You got rid of all his crap the day after he left the house. Left you and Abner. Left you. Everything that reminded you of him had to go. From the woven bracelet he gave you for your birthday to that holey sock of his that you still hadn't darned in the months you'd been promising to. All the photos you'd taken of the two of you, all the notes you guys had passed in the library when studying didn't seem good enough for the moment, all the little keepsakes he would give you just because he could (It varied from colored pencils to shiny rocks to pretty but torn pieces of fabric) you got rid of all of it. It took all of ten minutes to lock it all up in a box, take it into the backyard, pour some gasoline on it and put a match to the rubbish, wiping furious tears away as you did.

It was like he had never been there, and you were okay with that. You were able to squash him out of your system easier that way.

It takes time to heal, something you didn't have. You just wanted him out.

You eventually stopped looking up every time a door opened to see if it was him entering the room. You stopped dreaming up silly ideas that he would come back from his adventure and tell you it wasn't really over. You stopped writing 'Mrs. Marion Jones' on every spare piece of paper you could get your hands on.

In less than a week, you had given up on Indiana Jones.

No strings attached and no emotional baggage. Just you--all alone--determined to get it all out of your head.

The way he laughed at your sarcastic comments, the manner with which he could argue and drive you crackers, the winning smile that always melted your insides, and the way he always seemed to know whether you needed space or not; you'd forced it all out.

I tear you out of my heart
And ignore all your messages

Of course, he had to try and make this all harder for you than it already was. That (His stubbornness) had not changed.

The first letter arrived two days after his departure. You opened it, almost eager to read the contents, then changed your mind and tossed it in the fire.

Letters came pouring in. One for every week. And one after the other they were ignored and thrown away. No matter how much your conscience told you to read every single one, you somehow managed to ignore them all. You knew that reading them would only ruin all the careful planning you had done to remove him from your affections like a bullet lodged in flesh. Yet the consistency of them was irksome.

It drove you insane, his persistence. He was making everything complicated, just like it had always been with the two of you. You felt he was torturing you on purpose, twisting the knife in your heart. And while at one time it would have made you upset, it now simply annoyed you. Presumptuous bastard.

You were done with him. A clean slate.

And no sappily written apology was going to change that.

I tell everyone we are through
'Cause I'm so much better without you

Years passed, and you were better. You were happy. Content. You would tell anyone in the pub who would listen why you learned to forget the one guy who had hurt you. Why you were better off a loner.

It didn't bother you that much, working for little pay in a pub in the middle of nowhere. You know you could be in worse scenarios than this, so you roll with the punches as they come. Every night you'd participate in the drinking contests, win, then clear the crowds out of the bar, and after which you'd quietly clean up and pass out on your small bed upstairs, the alcohol forcing you to admit that you're always lonely on cold nights like this.

But you're better off without him, you tell yourself firmly. Being with him is not a necessity; neither is wishing he was there. You're well off, and that's all that matters.

You've managed to convince yourself of that for the last ten years.

But it's just another pretty lie
'Cause I break down
Every time you come around
Oh, Oh

But then again, you didn't expect him to come back into your life. Ever.

And when he does, you're a little less than sober, and already rather exhausted from a long day. Your face is dirty, your hair is a mess, and you're pretty sure you look a little less for wear as he walks into your pub and mutters the phrase that marks the unraveling of your very sanity.

"Hello, Marion."

Whirling around, eyes wild, something inside of you keeps you from screaming like a madwoman with both rage and euphoria. There he is.

Greeting him with a smile, acting like he's an old friend with no harm done, you could swear that for just a second it's as if the last ten years have never happened. And you're seventeen again, looking at the guy who in your eyes is God's eighth world wonder. After everything you went through to get him out of your heart, its being too easily undone.

You manage to keep all wits about you, even with the punch you deliver to his jaw and cold the words you make sure are exchanged.

It's when he saves your life and burns your entire home and workplace down in a matter of minutes that you start to think there's no hope for you. Even as you both stand there in the freezing snow, shouting at each other outside a burning building, you can already feel the pull of his hazel eyes and the very sight of him has spread the oddest sense of adrenaline through your veins.

You begin to realize that you were lying to yourself, that much is confirmed when you whole-heartedly agree to join him on this blasted adventure to go find some old artifact. There's no denying that after all the bloody hours you've spent detaching him from your heart, he's already earning his place deep within it again. This time with out even trying.

So how did you get here under my skin?
Swore that I'd never let you back in
Should've known better than trying to let you go
'Cause here we go go go again

It is in every word he says that a sense of familiarity begins to seep into your body. The entire airplane ride to Cairo is spent talking, just talking. Like the two of you used to. Everything's different. Yet nothing has ever felt so the same.

"So, you ever get married?" He asks you, looking bemused over his cup of coffee.

You roll your eyes. It's so typical of him to ask about your personal life as if it was his own. "Hello? Have you seen the local single men? Not exactly my type."

He smirks, and a tinge of annoyance colors your cheeks. "What, none of them were old enough for you? I seem to recall you being rather biased towards the older male population."

He plays the guilt card. The memory card. You want to punch him again.

"That was until I discovered that the older men over twenty five seem to have trouble making their pricks work." You snap back. He grins wolfishly and shakes his head.

It goes back and forth like that, and as the journey progresses, you find that you can still make him laugh. And your klutziness that never seemed to fade after adolescence still makes him smile.

He's already back to his old routine of making you feel everything at once, and it's bugging you. One minute he's teasing you about your height and the next he's complimenting your eyes, saying they still sparkle. You don't know what to make of it, only that you never should have agreed to go on this stupid adventure chasing after Nazi's and long lost relics.

It would have been better to say no and just avoid this whole ordeal.

You promised yourself. You swore on your broken heart that no matter how many times you saw him in the future that it wouldn't change a thing. That no matter how much he smiled, and ran a hand through his hair, and said your name in a way that all but obliterated your self control, you'd be able to keep your pride and dignity tied up and reigned in.

A fat lot of good it did.

It was just like this when the two of you started going out ten years ago. Everything would be fine, and then you'd fight and yell and bicker, and then you'd be back and crazy about each other. You would have thought that a ten year hiatus would have killed the pattern.

And yet now, the two of you are back at the beginning, repeating from the vicious cycle in a way that makes you forget anything had happened in the past.

Hard as I try I know I can't quit
something about you is so addictive
we're falling together
you'd think that by now I'd know
'Cause here we go go go again

You try to stop these weird rushes of affection towards him. You try to stop the heat that creeps up your face when he grins cheekily just for you. You try to stop the way you feel when he touches you, even when it's by accident.

But there isn't a way to. There's some bizarre, sadist law of gravity that keeps you from getting completely aggravated with him when he spends hours talking to the locals in Cairo about something that was buried away thousands of years ago. Whether its pheromones, or stupidity, or madness, you keep wishing that before he goes to bed he thinks of you. You hope to God that you have the same effect on him as he does on you.

You quite sure you have to be crazy.

He still thinks so, at least. He tells you all the time.

You don't blame him, however. You know that you're actions are screaming out the state of your mental well-being.

The next weeks the two of you spend in Cairo are interesting. You try and stay low key and out of his way, forcing yourself to go and entertain yourself in other ways.

But then he'll come up to you and start talking and your hopes for being blissfully distracted are thrown out the window.

You find that—much to your horror---he still smells the same, you note one day as you trip over your own feet in the market place. He catches you and you can catch a whiff of that musky smell (Cinnamon and…laundry soap?) that you've never smelled on another man.

You gradually begin to fit into an agreeable position with him. The two of you are friends, maybe still acquaintances, with a don't-tell past that both of you are happy enough to stay away from. At first it starts out alright, the just friends plan.

But once again, the lines are blurring between friends and more.

You curse yourself for getting in this deep, and worry what the worst is to come.

You know you should really start to see the signs when they show up; that history is indeed repeating itself, despite how hard you may try to stop it. But you're just as naïve and blind as you were ten years ago. You can easily deny anything he does. The way he 'brushed' up against you in the hallway the other day was an accident. The way he let you hold his hand when the plane was hitting turbulence was strictly platonic. Everything has an excuse.

Except for that small fact that you seem to be reliving everything with him. From the banter to the arguments that will go on for hours. It's a déjà vu waiting to happen, and you thought that you would have been able to prevent it.

But you didn't, and now you're inexplicably stuck between a rock and a hard place.

And for some sick, masochistic reason, you are not bothering to try and get out of this situation at all.

You never know what you want
And you never say what you need

There are also those times where there is a very thin line between falling for him and wanting to kill him. He pushes you out of your comfort zone (Which is saying something) and ruffles your feathers in a completely gentlemanly way.

Indiana Jones has always been a man of indecision until the last possible moment, you've known that. But he brings this to a whole new level when he takes a full fifteen minutes to decide whether or not he's hungry for breakfast and when he can't decide whether to buy the 'magical trinket' from one of the shops or not.

You find that you want to pull your hair out and scream at him for hours with his mysterious conversations. He can be so cryptic sometimes, with his sardonic comments and sentimental thoughts. It oftentimes drives you crazy because you don't know what he's thinking. You'd like to imagine that he's feeling something, after all those times he's grinned at you when no one else is looking. There's even times when he sneaks a glance at you when he thinks you're not looking. You think it's because he cares.

You also know he's never going to confess to that fact aloud.

It's easy to know what emotion is going through him in any moment, but not what said emotion is directed that. You see the affection when you call your adopted monkey 'our baby' on one day when the two of you are walking leisurely through the market place. You see the bitterness when the subject of the last ten years comes up in any conversation. You see the terror when some louts go chasing after you with swords, seconds after Indy tells you to run and get out of here.

It's just like old times. He tells you to go away and you stay with him.

So, when you get captured and tied up in some tent in the middle of nowhere, you're a little more than pissed at yourself. At him. Because if you hadn't been standing there, wondering a million things at once (Will Indy be alright? Can I trust him to take care of himself? Does he have any idea how attractive he is when he's punching guys and yelling at me?), you could have gotten a head start and run your ass out of there before they started chasing you.

Now you're a captive, with nothing to do but stare off into space and think about the one person who is probably the reason you're tied up here in the first place.

But I start to go insane
Every time that you look at me

The fact that he pushes your buttons with a simple phrase said is easy to accept. It's his glances that you can't even begin to fathom. Because after all those years of erasing the sight of him from your mind, you still feel your pulse set off and your breathing hitch every time he so much as looks at you. And that within itself drives you crazy.

It's not because he has the most amazing eyes you've ever seen, nor is it because hazel happens to be the color that makes you go weak at the knees. It's because of the way he looks at you, calculating and indecision, as always.

When you were younger he used to stare at you when you would be with him. He'd do it when you were mad at him, and he'd do it when you weren't. You liked it back then, because you knew that he was thinking about you, or admiring you. Now, it just makes you want to cry because you're not sure whether he wants you or not.

No matter how mad you may be at him in any given moment, or how aggravated his actions are making you, there's no doubt that one glance leaves you senseless and completely dazzled.

Of course, he can't look at you now, because you're bloody tied to this bloody pole on this bloody tent.

Bloody bloody bloody.

You only hear half of what I say
And you're always showing up too late

He was never one to ignore any of your protests to overt affection, especially when you were seventeen. He used to start kissing you in public and you'd have to hit the fool to get him to stop.

Fifty percent of what you told him was ignored, and most of that half was the important stuff, such as 'Maybe we should wait until Abner isn't looking to start holding hands under the dinner table' or 'Maybe we should go downstairs and use the stove to keep warm instead of trying to start a fire with wet matches in my bedroom'. He never was one to take direction from someone else.

You have now gotten to the point where you give up trying to boss him around and suggest a better option, despite your varying opinion of his.

His lateness was and is a regularity and you don't really care for it. But it's him, another trait that merely irks you more. Whether it was to a scheduled secret make out session in the library or even a dinner party with some archaeologist's, he was late. You never condoned him for it, because it never seemed that important that he was too late for anything. He always managed to get to you in the nick of time.

Now, however…

His tardiness is more or less driving you mad.

Because in all honesty, you really need him to get you out of here. It's so stupid how you're stuck in this tent, tied to a pole and gagged. You haven't eaten in maybe a day or so. And you've got a nasty scratch on your nose that you can't get a hold on.

You blame this all on him for the present moment. His pathological lateness on saving you, his not really hearing you when you yelled his name over and over as the Germans took you out of the basket and stuck you in the non-exploding truck. If you had just stayed away from him, everything would have been fine.

It's all Indy's fault.

You find it easier to embrace the situation when you can blame this all on someone else. Especially him.

And I know that I should say goodbye
But it's no use
Can't be with or without you
Oh, Oh

When he comes stumbling you're not sure whether you should cry with relief or try to cause him as much bodily harm as possible. Because he scares the shit out of you, dressed like an Arab and looking like he wants to ravage you on the spot.

At first, you squirm away, because you know it's him and you want nothing to do with him and you want him to go away and your head is hurting and your throat is dry and through lack of hunger you're experiencing a very strong faintness around him.

It's time to get the hell away from him.

But now, however, as he bends over you and unties the gag from your mouth, intention written on his own, you don't bother to say anything or fight back. Because you know from past experience he'll ignore it and do whatever he's going to do.

He thought you were dead, and for some reason, it makes you laugh. Maybe it's because you're nearly delirious with lack of sleep, or maybe it's because you're so happy to see him.

It's much simpler to accept the former as the solution.

You should yell at him, you should spit on his face for leaving you out here in the desert. But you can't bring yourself to do either of those things. You've suddenly lost all coherent thought and reason.

Because now, he's kissing you with the urgency of one who desperately needs to kiss, and you're completely powerless to offer another course of action, or stab him to death, or cry with relief, or even push him off you. In fact, you feel that no universal force can stop you from kissing him back.

He kisses you till you're nearly passed out from lack of oxygen, kiss after kiss to your lips that sends your body raging with energy and becoming consumed with thoughts of only him. If he had untied you, you wouldn't have even let go of him, let alone pulled your lips away from his.

Nothing has changed, no feelings were ever erased. You were stupid to think you could resist this, resist him. Because sitting there in that little cramped tent, kissing Indiana Jones for all you're worth, you're sure that there's no other way for you to live.

So how did you get here under my skin?
Swore that I'd never let you back in
Should've known better than trying to let you go
Cause here we go go go again

You can't believe it, even as he leaves you stuck in that tent for another few hours. Even as you get tossed in a snake pit with him by your side. Even as you escape the snake pit of doom and run with Indy to go blow up a plane and stop a bunch of Nazi's from killing you guys. You can't believe that after all these years of careful plotting and scheming and promising yourself this would never happen, it's happened. From the very second in that tent that Indiana Jones' lips touched yours you knew it was all fruitless.

You still loved him, even after all this time.

Hell.

You know it'd be easy to let him die right now, as he battles a man double his own weight and you single handedly capture a plane. As sadistic and sick as it sounds, you think for just a second it might help you get over him and this stupid crush.

The thought changes, however, as he saves your life for what seems to be the thousandth time in the last couple weeks. He grins at you as the two of you retreat from the explosion and you grin back, thankful for once that he's in your life.

Once the two of you blow up the plane, Indy decides that he hasn't had enough for the day. He announces that he's going to be chasing after a truck. You tell him he's mad.

He agrees, scanning the nearest horse corral for the largest stallion, "But we've got to get the Ark."

"I'm sure you'd be fine if you could simply ignore one bloody artifact for once in your life." You snap.

"It's not that simple, Marion. This could mean the end of civilization."

"As does every lost artifact." You roll your eyes. He is still the big histrionic idiot he's always been. "Wouldn't it make sense to…I don't know get some rest and recuperate before going charging back into battle?"

You're bickering again. Wasn't there one tradition that the two of you could not revert back to?

"Here we go again." He moans, looking even more tired as he glares at you.

You glare back. Sallah watches the two of you with great amusement.

"Let me come with you." You hear the sentence but are surprised to find you're the speaker.

He laughs, throwing his head back. "After the help you've proved to give? What with getting stuck in a plane and whatnot? No thank you.'

You bristle. "I saved your life, Jones, by gunning down people and chopping up the guy who you were fighting. And losing to, might I add."

Indy runs an agitated hand through his hair before putting his hat on. "You know what? This is not the time to argue. I have a truck to catch."

He swings up on the horse and for a minute he looks like a knight in shining armor. Minus the tattered clothes and dusty Fedora, of course.

You open your mouth to argue further, but nothing comes out. He's looking down at you with the kind of intensity that jars your whole body down to your toes and disables speech.

"Be careful." He whispers. "Stay with Sallah. And don't fall into any more snake pits."

You smile wryly. "I know you'll be there to catch me if I do."

He gallops off, and you feel that this isn't the first time he's left you wishing you could go with him. Idiot.

Another déjà vu. You think you need some whiskey before things get any more complicated.

Hard as I try I know I can't quit
Something about you is so addictive
We're falling together
You'd think that by now I'd know
'Cause here we go go go again

You worry on incessantly for what seems like hours as Sallah and you go the nearest shipping dock to try and find a boat. You're pretty sure you've never felt so twisted up with worry. Every time you close your eyes you can just picture Indy doing something stupid, like actually jumping off the horse to get in the tank and kick some Nazi ass.

You know you shouldn't be caring so. He's a big boy who can take care of himself more than you can. Yet it doesn't make anything seem better.

Hours later Indy drives up in a huge truck. You're in a right state of pathetic; wringing your hands and praying even as he opens the door and steps out that he's okay.

It's not until you see him up close that you realize how truly worried you were. And exactly how justified you were in your worrying.

Oh, God.

You could kill him, you really could.

His right side is completely drenched in blood, and if he was covered in scratches and bruises then, it was nothing to how bad he is now.

"What the hell did you try to do?" You screech as he practically falls out of the driver's seat in the tank. "Tackle down the entire Nazi army?"

He leans on you, well, falls on you, more like it. You stagger under his weight and he gasps as his bleeding arm slams against your shoulder. "You could say that." He grunts, continuing to lean on you. "I'm fine, Marion, really."

"You lunatic." You nearly laugh, furious that he actually thinks he's okay. "You bloody lunatic. You know you had me worried sick? I couldn't even bring myself to drink, I was so worried!"

He looks down at you, hazel eyes burning into you and you feel your anger shrivel up and die. "I got it, Marion. It's in the back of the truck."

The Ark.

The man was bleeding to death and leaning on you for support and all he can talk about is the bloody Ark.

You start to highly consider that aforementioned 'killing him' strategy.

"Sallah," You motion towards the back of the truck and some of the ship's men carry it out unto the ship.

"Indy," You round on him, "For once in your blasted life could you please focus on the fact that you're bleeding and not in top shape at the moment and not on the state of a eons old crate of rocks?"

"God, I missed you yelling at me." He suddenly says, smiling at you. "I tell you, the last ten years has been odd without your shrill voice."

You consider asking him if he's drunk, or if he's lost a little too much blood, but you decide that now is not the time. Because right now he's really close to you, and his chest is pressed against you and you find that you need a bloody distraction before you lose all sense of reason and kiss him for the second time that day.

"C'mon, let's go say goodbye to Sallah." You decide, dragging him along with you.

He agrees with a nod and the two of you walk over. You nearly jump out of your skin when Indy's arm snakes around your waist. Your self-control is slipping again and you glide out of his reach and say goodbye to Sallah, giving him a goodbye/thank you kiss that you're sure Indy sees.

The two of you walk on the ship, and despite your attempts to warn Indy that you're no one's property; his hand is once again on your waist, thumb rubbing in extremely distracting circles on your hip.

Yep, you decide, he has to be drunk.

"C'mon, Jones, let's get you cleaned up." You command, leading him down into the ships lower decks.

You pointedly leave him in the cabin by himself, noticing that there is only one bed in the blasted thing. But despite your furious argument with Katanga, you are not allowed another room. You are, however, offered a wonderful silk nightgown.

Cursing your disadvantages as a woman without a gun or knife at hand, you grab a basin of water, some cloths, change into the nightgown in a supply closet aboard the ship and head back to Indy's cabin.

Oh Christ, he's shirtless.

Nevertheless, you manage to walk into the cabin with the easy-going smile of any decent girl. He comments on your attire and you can't hold back a blush.

Minutes later, you're sitting next to him, trying to clean him up in someway. You decide to start up a conversation, to keep the tension in the air thin.

"You're not the man I knew ten years ago." You sigh, sitting him back.

He grimaces as you apply pressure to part of his shoulder. "It's not the years, honey, it's the mileage."

The conversation quickly evaporates as you start to try and mop some of the cuts up. He won't bloody let you touch any part of him. Every part of him appears to hurt. You're bloody tired of playing these games.

"Goddamit, anywhere doesn't it hurt?!" You snap, sitting back with a huffy breath. When it comes to him you've still got the impatience of a ten year old.

He holds out his elbow and you kiss it. Then his forehead, then the bridge of his nose. It's a game, just like the ones you played when you were seventeen and he was twenty six. You would dare him to kiss you. And he would, just never on the lips.

But then there was that one day, when the two of you were hidden deep in the shelves of the library. You dared him to kiss you.

And this time, instead of kissing your cheek or your forehead or your hair, he moved forward with startling urgency and kissed your lips. You recall how pleased you were, also ecstatic, smug, and surprised.

It's the nostalgia for that same sensation that makes you want him to kiss you again.

Only this time, you do it first.

Oh
And Again
And Again
And Again

His hands move to your waist on perfect cue and you're leaning into him and something about the way he's responding to you makes your stomach execute somersault after somersault. He still wants you, even after all this time and all the arguments you've had in the last twelve hours, he still wants you.

When he pulls away, suddenly asleep, you can't help but smile to yourself. The poor guy is so knackered he can't even kiss you. Figures.

You eventually stop trying to wake him up and rest your head on his chest while watching his face as he sighs in slumber. His brow is furrowed and his eyelids are fluttering as he dreams.

In ten years, he looks almost exactly the same. Maybe he's a little weather beaten with just a tinge of grey in his hair, but still devastatingly handsome as you've always found him, if not even more so.

How could you have gone so long without him? You ask yourself, trying to recall any of the last ten years, wasted on trying to forget him and purge your system of feelings for him. And in less than a month, he's managed to re compromise what ten years of work took you to build up and then dashed it to pieces.

You could try again, with him. Another relationship might actually work out, what with no father to worry about. And Lord knows you're finally old enough for him, mature enough. Watching his sleeping figure, you'd like to think that having a relationship with him would be easy.

And then you remember.

Like a bucket of ice water poured down your back, you remember how much you cried when he left, even though he had said he was never going to. You remember how much it hurt you, and how badly your heart was broken

You don't want to go through that again. It's not too late to try and stop him from making his way into your heart, you tell yourself. There has to be a way to stop him.

Because you had done all you needed to do ten years prior, right?

I threw all of your stuff away
Then I cleared you out of my head
And I tore you out of my heart
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh

You sit bolt upright, trying to keep a calm thought about you.

Sometime later he stirs beneath you and mumbles something incoherent into your ear, blinking rapidly.

"Marion?" He starts to sit up, you lean against him, not letting him.

"Yes, you fell asleep whilst kissing me." You tell him softly, trying to keep from smiling. "I didn't know I was such a bore."

"Far from it." He mutters, snaking an arm around your waist. "Now, c'mere."

His lips are on your neck and your eyes are closing. You're losing control. Again.

"N-No." You shimmy out of his grasp and bounce about to the other side of the cabin. "I'm…er….I'm going to wash up."

You know he thinks you're mad, because his expression is incredulous as you close the door to the bathroom.

You splash water on your face and take some deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

A knock on the door sends you into near convulsions.

"Mare, what are you up to?" He grumbles, probably still half asleep.

"Washing up." You reply breezily. "Isn't a woman aloud to do that?"

"Not when said woman is already squeaky clean from the bath she had an hour prior." He replies and you grimace.

"Just come out of there." He reasons a second later.

You stare at the door and take a few more deep breaths for good measure. You can do this. You can calmly tell Indy that you are no longer interested.

When you open that door and see him, bright-eyed, grinning, bare-chested, you force yourself not to react. Instead you lift your chin high and march past him, grabbing your clothes and your suitcase. Enough of this, you decide angrily, no more games, no more kisses, no more flirting. This madness is over.

And then he's pressed against you from behind, and you sigh with exasperation.

"What are you doing?" He whispers in your ear, causing you to bite your lip. He's doing it again. You're not exactly sure what 'it' is. It may be the way he's talking to you, or the way his hands are on your waist or the way his lips are somehow finding their way along the sensitive skin near your neck. But you feel yourself not wanting to leave, no matter how necessary the action is.

You shudder and try to concentrate on zipping your suitcase shut. "I'm leaving?"

That's exactly how you say it. Like a question.

You can feel his grin. "You don't sound like you are. C'mon, stay here. I'm sure you're plenty tired, Marion. And if you're not, that's just as well, cause neither am I. We can stay up, talk, and catch up on what we've been missing."

Catch up on what we've been missing. God, there is nothing you want to do more than that.

So how did you get here under my skin?
Swore that I'd never let you back in
Should've known better than trying to let you go
Cause here we go go go again

"No." You bring an edge of steel to your voice and step away from him. "I'm going to sleep somewhere else tonight."

"Like where?" He's very sarcastic now. "There are no other cabins on board."

Damn….

"Then I'll sleep on the floor." You spit, stalking over to the far most corner of the cabin and plop yourself down on the floor.

"Marion…." He walks over to you and you face the wall. "If it troubles you that much to sleep next to me, you can have the bed and I'll take the floor."

You don't answer and he tone gets a little angry. Good. About time. You were starting to worry that the usual kiss-fight-kiss-fight sequence was losing itself.

"What is your problem?" He suddenly asks sharply.

You round on him, standing up to your fullest height in your corner. Even then you're still shorter than him by a good three inches or so. "What do you think, Doctor?"

"Damn it, Marion," His eyes flash. "Don't play coy, or pretend you're suddenly not interested."

"Interested in what," You parry back, glad to get a rise out of him, "You?"

"Interested in this." He gestures furtively between the two of you. "Don't act stupid. You kissed me first."

You gape at him like a fish out of water. "That's completely irrelevant!" You explode.

"Why is it that you can't make up your bloody mind?" He asks. "Why is it that one minute you'll kiss me and then you'll go crazy and start ranting about needing to move to another cabin?"

You consider lying, but then figure that the truth will hurt more.

"Because I'm sick of coming back to you, repeating this crazy cycle and getting hurt again." You say softly, glaring hard. "I want to, for once, come out on top as the stronger person."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you look down, willing them away. The cabin is silent as you blink vigorously, trying to hold back.

He watches you for a second and then laughs, like he doesn't believe it.

"You honestly thought that trying to get rid of me was going to work?" He laughs, watching you as you blush furiously.

"Yes." You answer defiantly.

"Well, it wasn't." He disagrees, suddenly serious.

"Because," He's says simply, taking a step closer to you, "I'll just keep coming back to you, repeating this crazy cycle and getting hurt again."

"Oh?" You find yourself smiling, despite the fact that you're technically in the middle of an argument. "And who says I'm going to take you back?"

"Well," He begins, taking another step. The two of you are inches apart, and you're more than aware that he's still not touching you. "That's your decision, isn't it?"

You look up at him, trying to keep your gaze steady, trying to keep your eyes from locking on his, trying to ignore the smile already creeping into his expression; that lopsided, all knowing smile.

You can fight this. You can say no.

His hand is suddenly weaving in your hair near the nape of your neck (How did it get there???) and your foreheads are touching.

You just have to walk out on him and it'll all be over. The madness, the hormone/adrenaline rushes, the blushing, the non-stop fighting that makes you want to pull your hair out, the crazy stunts he does that could get him killed, the feeling of extreme redundancy that never seems to get old. You could get rid of the entire repetitive circle with one, two letter word.

But you want to kiss him. You've never wanted something so bad before. Your body is aching with anticipation.

You suddenly decide that what you want and what you need are one and the same things. Bearing that in mind, you lunge forward and pull him down so your lips can meet his own.

Hard as I try I know I can't quit
Something about you is so addictive
We're falling together
You'd think that by now I'd know
'Cause here we go go go again

His reaction is instantaneous, and leaves you wondering how long it's been since you've felt this; this crazy, over the edge sense of passion.

His lips move against yours in a way that seems to make the kiss all the more intense. Your arms are locked around his neck, pulling him as close as you can, yet not close enough.

It's magic, there's no other word for it, the way he's making you feel right now. You can't breathe and there's nothing that can slow down the thundering of your heart. It's been too long, you decide, since being with him. The kisses you shared that evening and earlier on that day were nothing compared to this; these eager, torturous kisses that make you drunk within seconds.

And when he pushes you up against the wall, tilting your head back to gain access to your exposed neck and collar bone, you have to wonder what you were thinking trying to avoid this. You were absolutely crackers to even try.

"Jesus, Marion," He swears, staring at you as you desperately try to bring his lips back to your own, "Why didn't you do this weeks ago?"

"I thought it would be okay to try and ignore the repetitive cycle." You answer, running your hands through his tousled hair, recalling how soft it still is after all these years and pressing your chest to his. "But obviously, that blew up in my face."

"Mmmm." He's cut off as you kiss him ferociously.

Here We Go Again
Here We Go Again
Should've known better than trying to let you go
Cause here we go go go again

When his tongue gently massages the bottom of your lip, asking for an entrance, you don't even try to stop him. When his fingers toy with the zipper on your dress, you don't swat them away. And when he continues to kiss you in a way that drives you crazy with desire, you can only moan deliciously into his mouth. You're powerless, and proud to accept it.

Breathing hard, he suddenly pulls away from you and looks at you, arms still wrapped firmly around the small of your back. The golden brown of his eyes is burning into your own and his expression is half dazed.

You're not sure why he stopped in this moment, whether it was hesitation or pure realization what was about to happen.

"I should never have left." He announces, in no more than a whisper, bring a hand to cup your cheek. "I never should have tried to let you go."

You wonder why he told you that, but never ask, because he then pulls you to him again, rendering you senseless with his lips, hands, eyes, everything.

You realize--As he pulls you onto his bed, arms still wrapped around you--that this may not last forever; you're sure that by tomorrow the two of you will be back to bickering and hating each other for ninety percent of the time. And eventually the cycle will repeat, as it always does and you'll eventually be back to this once more. It's not perfect, and you're sure it will drive you up the wall more than enough.

But at the end of the day, when all is said and done, he'll still be there, waiting with arms wide open and that knowing smile on his face that you won't even dare to resist next time.

With that fact acknowledged, you know that no matter how many times the two of you go through this, you'll always go back to the beginning and end up falling in love all over again.

Again, again, again
and again and again
And again and again and again

A/N: Tell me what you think, please. This was me trying a different writing style, and I'd like to know if it made sense. If you have questions regarding where the hell I have been these past months, see profile. REVIEW!