When she was four years old, her family had lived on a coast. She cannot recall which city, because time is fickle, but she does remember the water, rumbling warmth, sloshing up around her calves and begging to take her far, far away. Danielle was always told to never let go of her when they went to the beach, and at the time, she was unable to comprehend why. Nearly a quarter of a century later, she finally gets it. A century is a long time to measure. Childhood feels like a lifetime ago.

Auggie reminds her of the ocean.

His lips are still vaguely chapped from his time in the desert, but they swallow her whole, drowning in the most exquisite form, treading and treading until she barely has any time to leave the stark taste for air to breathe. She can't even think, because this, his hands pursed at the small of her back, feverish on bare expanse because her clothing has somehow receded, this is too much and not enough all at the same time.

"Bed?"

It guts her: the way he sounds. She's practically memorized the hue of his voice, a steady beat, but now it gravels like a wounded animal, unsteady but alive, and she barely has a moment to give a differential tug in the direction of her comforter than he's tumbled her onto it. Annie lay on her back, hair fanning out around her blooming cheeks and bright eyes, all too aware she should probably be ridding herself of her own clothing, yet all she can do is heave air like a dying man and watch him.

His hands, his deliciously long fingers, tremble as they make quick work of his jacket. Something within her kicks at the sight of his palms taking at tops of his dress shirt, resisting, wild. Leaning forward and catching his lips again, she pushes his feeble grip away, and descends on the fastenings instead.

It really doesn't take that long to realize he's outdoing her by a mile and a millennium in the abdominal department. The melding ridges are warm and solid as she rests her hands against them gently, dipping down in a fair moment of spontaneity to let her thumbs smooth the skin right above his hip bones. Auggie shudders and breaks away, already dropping his hands to the hem of her own shirt and tugging upwards. He drops his mouth down to her neck and starts sucking at the dip there, and she moans, just once, the only sound she's made since that very first kiss, and it does a number on them both to hear it out loud.

Thunder crashes, wars waging against sees of silky bed sheets.

Then, they're both down for the count.

It becomes apparent quickly that Auggie will be dominant, or at least for tonight, and although submitting to a man isn't unusual, submitting from scrunch of her eyelids to the curl of her toes is. Somehow, he manages to garner his attention down, down, down, to unhinge her jeans and pull them down too. Arching her back is not intentional, in turn pushing the soft fabric of her bra against his chest.

He groans, and later, she won't really remember how anything else was lost, because her sanity goes with it.

Auggie is a gentleman, he always has been, since day one, when she was agog a blind man could lead her. He's lead her through a lot of things. When he pushes two fingers within her, sinking blissfully easy, she falls apart at the seams.

The events of the month, hell, the year, had her wound so tight she can barely remember when she stops clenching, little sounds crawling up the back of her throat that she can't keep down. He's hard against her hip, sure and practical. "Please, Auggie."

He doesn't have to be told twice.

The absence of his hand forces a wanton protest from her, but it halts just before it leaves because they're replaced by something far better, and that's when she comprehends the puzzles from a long forgotten childhood beyond fathomless oceans and going going, because even if a hundred land mines erupt in that minute, he has her flayed, raw, and his.

They are actually going to follow through with this.

Months ago this had been a dream, something to wish on amongst hot bubble baths and lonely nights, but this is reality and she can't get enough.

He's thick, and when he finally fills her she feels absolutely whole. Integral, perfect.

She doesn't know why they waited so long, and with a sharp, keening cry, just one pull of his hips-

Annie shatters.

He helps her pick up the pieces.

She's sore the next morning, but smiles at the sunlight filtering through her blinds anyway. Sated, she rolls over and into his embrace. Unsurprisingly, he's already awake.

Annie pushes up to land a half kiss on his jaw. Morning breath is a drag.

"We have to go in," she murmurs half heartedly, chest heavy at the thought of Joan and Athur Campbell, of the file nestled on her side table. Betrayal lurks in her veins.

Auggie knows nothing, and ignorance is bliss, so she sighs and pushes the covers away from her naked body. "Come on, Anderson. We've got to go save the world."

He grunts in assent. "Only if you're by my side."

She thinks her heart might combust.

"I will be," she nods, not believing the words one bit.

I'll try to be.

It won't be long before the tides will wash her away.