"My place?" Neutral. Braced for Doyle's refusal -- did it hurt less when you saw the ground rushing up at you?

Two weeks. Had he been too keen? Crowded too close? Taken it for granted?

Refusal in Doyle's eyes. Hard-faced and wary like he'd walked into an ambush. But tired too: white and strained. Hell of a day. They should be together tonight.

There would be other nights. But his mouth opened. He was going to say it. His skin prickled hotly, painfully. He was going to say it. Please.

Instead, Doyle said evenly. "Why not?"

Careful what you wish for.

-- THE END --

February 2008