The Kinsmen.

A/N: Thank you Kate_Christie for the once over and the vote of confidence. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I rent.

"With love's light wings did I o'ed-perch these walls;

For stony limits cannot hold love out,

And what love can do, that cares love attempt;

Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me."

- Romeo & Juliet Act 2, Scene 2

Prompt fic from Klindsay

The Kinsmen.

It was the silence that awoke her, at least that is what she thought until she heard another crackle of thunder from outside the window.

The glass shook with the force of the bolt.

Little bullets of rain pelted the pane.

She watched it for a moment before rolling over, the sheet pooling in the small of her back as she settled onto her stomach. Her fists curled up under her chin, her now dry hair protecting her bare skin from the cool draft of the air conditioner.

He breathed softly. Little puffs of air brushing her cheek.

He would make a poetic statement about it: the rumbling roll of sound, the stones of her wall crumbling down, but he would be wrong. The wall was still there, jagged and faltering, but it was still standing. It was he alone who had been able to scale it, with a rope and a ladder, a foothold in her heart.

She had done her best to push him away, to protect him against the armies of resistance that lay beyond the borders of her fortress: the cavalry of doubt, the battalion of self-deprecation, the regiment of weariness of her own worth.. Her armies: her kinsman. It would have been easier that way, to wait until she was truly ready, until she was not hurt, or betrayed, or running off of caffeine and adrenaline alone.

But then she had succumbed.

She hung from a building, and had only found herself holding on at the thought of him climbing up next to her, to save her. The wall had almost killed her. She sat, swinging, where she first told him about it, and she felt it crumble a little bit more, the mortar cracking- a long, jagged line.

A ray of light filtered through the bricks.

He had forced his way in, planted himself there with his declaration, his seed of love, allowing it to fester, to blossom, over the course of the year as he stood by her side in silence, part of him always knowing that she heard. She knew he knew, even though neither one of them had wanted to admit it. He held back his anger until his own fortress had faltered. A broken Castle: that was what she left in her wake.

None of it mattered now.

But it would always matter, an inkling of doubt in need of reassurance. Somehow here, in this moment, it was silent. It was golden. It was dark and foreboding.

It was perfect.

She watched him while he slept-his eyes loosely closed, his lips slightly parted. He looked younger, like a weight had been lifted off of him. In a way it had.

She yearned to run a finger down his jaw, tracing the curved line with the pad of her finger. She could do that now. She could allow herself to touch him.

His eyes fluttered open, and he didn't seem surprised to see her there, watching him.

"What are you thinking about?"

His words were soft, careful, as he nestled his head into the pillow next to hers, mirroring her position, his hair sticking out in jagged peaks, calling to her fingers.

She uncurled one of her fists from where it lay nestled under her chin. Her head turned to face him, and she ran her fingers along his temple softly, tracing the curve of his ear, across his cheek, around his eyes, down the bridge of his nose. Memorizing every line in a way that she had been denied before. A way she had denied herself.

"Rock climbing," came her cryptic reply, spilling from her lips before she had had a chance to filter her response.

He looked at her quizzically, his eyes searching hers, before the answer clicked in his brain, their minds forever in sync. From day one he had been able to read her, and it had thrown her off. The way he dug in and carved that first jagged foothold in her heart; hauled himself up to begin his ascent.

"Rock climbing, huh?" He questioned anyway, a small smile playing at his lips.

She nodded her head against the pillow, the motion causing her hair to spill over her shoulder.

He brought up a hand to brush it away, gently stroking her skin, leaving a line of goose bumps in its wake.

She shivered, pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

He didn't say anything else. He wouldn't, it wasn't their style. They didn't talk about things, at least not with words. They were wordsmiths, both of them. He painted scenes with verbs, nouns and adjectives. She twisted fables, tales of doubt, whispering them into the ears of unsuspecting criminals. But with each other, they didn't use words.

His eyes met hers.

The question was gone, replaced with a flash of desire: a declaration of love and lust pooling in his eyes.

A shiver ran down her spine.

She would say she could get used to that look, but she already had— the first time she had seen it years before. She had gotten used to it and ignored it, dismissed it.

Oh, but now she could embrace it.

His hand dipped below the sheet, down the back of her thigh, to the crease of her knee. Fingertips trailed over the soft skin for a moment, his eyes never leaving hers, as they ran back up the inside of her leg.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

His mouth was at her shoulder now, murmuring against her skin as his fingers wrapped around the inside of her thigh, his thumb brushing the crease at the top of her leg.

Her eyes fluttered back open.

He would force her to do this, to talk, to be open. He would take a sledgehammer to the rest of that damn wall.

What if she still wanted it there? The brick and stone; the protection from everything else going wrong in her life, as opposed to the one thing that was finally going right.

She shook her head. No, she didn't want to talk about it: about Ryan and Esposito, the petty nature of her encounter with Gates. She didn't want to tell him how she had dangled off a building, saved only by the thought of him. She didn't want to tell him that she had quit; given up.

She didn't want him to have those pieces of her yet: the imperfections. She wanted to stay here, in perfection, in bliss.

His fingers wiggled and she gasped, a short intake of breath.

He gave a tug; her leg drew closer to him.

She kissed him, twisted her body so that it was pressed against his, his hand coming up to settle on her waist.

He let out a soft growl, acknowledging what she was doing— avoiding. After all, it was what she did best: distract, deflect.

He pushed back on her, but she clung to him, her palms gripping his cheeks, her fingers wrapped around his ears.

No. Not now. They would play in the rubble tonight. Tomorrow they would deal with the wreckage left in their path.

"You can push me all you want, Kate, but I'm already in this, in you. Your walls can't keep me out anymore," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear as he rolled on top of her, pressed into her.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she gasped. Her legs wrapped around him, keeping him there. Still.

He was right. He had scaled the wall. But he was wrong. He had done that in the beginning, knocked her off balance, caused some of the stones to fall. He had been perched on the ledge for a year, whispering down to her. But it was only now that he had fallen into the depths.

He had successfully invaded the fortress, but it was only now that the true battle had begun. The armies, her kinsmen, would fight for her, against him, to protect her heart.

He whispered in her ear again— soft words of love. The thunder cracked and the remaining jagged pylons of rock came crumbling down. Any lingering doubt disappeared and she was certain, in that moment, that all those battles that remained were battles he would win.