Love.

Not the sort of word you give much thought to.

Not the sort of emotion you like to admit.

Lust you understand. Lust is animal. It's a weakness to exploit in others. A tool to be used. But...love? Yeah. You stay the hell away. You look at the sappy fools around you and you smirk. Congratulate yourself on not being one of them.

Heh. Doesn't always work like that though, does it?

Sometimes it bites back and then you know you're screwed. In every sense.

You're never prepared. When it hits you, it knocks your whole damn world sideways. Whether it's full frontal assault, sending you sprawling into emotions you don't want to visit, or whether it sidles up like an assassin in your sleep. Whether it douses you in fire, or ices you in shivers that shudder down your back like the deepest snow in Canada. However blunt. However poetic. Yeah... you never expect it.

...Whatever the hell that means.

Probably says more about you than you care to think about.

Instead you try to avoid it. Try to keep a healthy distance. Maintain that sex/relationship line with an iron fence that says 'do not the fuck cross'.

And it works... to a point...

...Sometimes these things just slip you by.

They slide through your barriers before you even notice they were there. They send your world spinning, flip everything on its head, until you start talking in circles and riddles about things you wish to hell you didn't understand. Thoughts that bleed you. Feelings that make you weaker.

Emotions you can't live without.

Yeah. That narks you. Big time.

But you still crave it.

You didn't expect to feel anything when she came back. Why would you? She was just a friend. A responsibility... yeah, that's what she was. Someone to look out for. Affectionate, but nothing more. It had all been about protection. About duty. About doing the right thing and proving you were worth something. Back then you would have never even considered...

...would you?

But the war had been and gone, taking too many with it, leaving the scars for the rest to bear. She left not long after. You weren't even sure why. At the time your mind was on other things. Like how the hell you were supposed to get through another day when every memory was haunted by those you had killed. Those you couldn't save.

But they needed you, didn't they. They gave you a role. Teacher. Leader. They gave you work. A purpose. And you built on that. You made something of it. Made something of yourself.

But her?

The cure set her apart, and when she split with her icicle boyfriend... who knows... Maybe she just decided it was best to move on. Couldn't say you blamed her. You would've done the same a few years back.

It wasn't messy. There was no bad feeling. She kept in touch with her friends, a few of the teachers. Even spoke to you a couple of times... on the phone of course. Maybe that's why you didn't consider it unusual when you heard she was thinking about coming back for Christmas. A shrug. Yeah. A chance to catch up. All good.

Yeah. Right.

Nearly a year, it had been, since she last stepped through those doors. Eleven months of building, trusting, working, bending a role in a school to fit you. Eleven months of forgetting. Eleven months of moving on.

What the fuck happened in eleven months?

Because when she walked through those doors... yeah...

Your whole damn world slid sideways.

You watch.

Blood pounds through your veins. Your mouth goes dry.

You try not to stare, but she looks well. Better than well. Cheeks flushed with the cold, snow caught up in her dark hair, still streaked with that familiar white. She brushes it self-consciously away from her face as she unwinds her scarf and takes in the scents and smells of the mansion around her. And when her nervous expression brakes into a smile, it clenches a fist in your chest, washing realisation over everything you thought you knew.

Fucking sideways.

You take the coward's way out, avoid her, but it haunts you all the same. Stays with you all day. A closely guarded secret. An emotion you won't give name to.

You attempt to get on with things, but your thoughts linger as you try to figure out why it hadn't been like this when she lived here before. Remembering what it was like to have her sitting at the back of one of your classes while you yelled about fuck knows what. Remembering how you used to catch her sharing those secret smiles with Bobby. Wondering how the hell something a year ago could suddenly make you feel like slamming your claws into the closest piece of antique fucking furniture.

You can't get away from it either. Signs of her return are everywhere. Her green coat slung over the back of one of the chairs in the rec room. Her scent in the hallway. An extra place setting at the table.

And in the evening, when you sit there at dinner, you notice things you've never even looked at, wondering how the hell you've never noticed them before. The way her eyes shine as they take in all the loops and glitter of the decorations. The way the dark green of the giant tree makes the matching colour of her thick sweater stand out against the soft paleness of her skin. The way her hands fumble nervously at the ends of the sleeves, memories of gloves haunting her.

Haunting you.

Like other memories.

Dog tags and trains and promises made to a kid. You said you'd look out for her.

This isn't looking out for her.

God but the things you said then are nothing like the things you want to say now. The things you want to do. And you know you're sliding but you can't do a damn thing about it.

You keep out the way during the chatting and drinking that comes afterwards. No one notices, not really. Heh, it's not like you're usually the social type. Others do the taking while you pretend not to notice. You're good at that.

Snatches of conversation still catch you though. Working in an office. Renting an apartment. Getting by. Yeah... happy. Doing ok.

Still got that Southern accent.

You're glad about that. Though you can't explain it. Or you don't want to.

Whatever.

You leave them to it. Turn your back on the conversation, hunch your shoulders to the cold and step outside to light a cigar instead, telling yourself it's for the best. Just need to keep out her way. Nothing but a temporary madness, that's all. Things will all make sense when she's gone again.

Yeah.

Sure they will...

You let the silence wash over you. Let the bitter air clear the warmth from your senses. Let the smoke warm your tongue as you wonder what the fuck you are really doing out here. How the hell you lie to yourself so goddamn well.

You know she will follow. She always does.

Still, you don't move.

The snow stops falling and the ground lies still under its blanket of white, the only colour the warmth of the mansion lights splashing out through the latticed windows.

And still you don't move.

Instead you light another cigar. Wonder when the fuck you became a chain smoker.

It's her scent that reaches you first. It curls round you, flairs your nostrils as you try and force yourself not to react. It's there long before she speaks and gives herself away.

"You've hardly said a word all night."

Yeah. Well. Best to avoid speaking when you can't trust your mouth not to voice your thoughts. Good way not to get arrested.

"Logan?"

You turn around, excuse ready on your tongue. Sorry kid. Been distracted. Been busy. Too much to do. To much to fix. Needed some air.

But the words never make it, and after eleven months... the way she's looking at you wipes your thoughts as blank as the winter snow.

You just stand there. Wondering how the fuck you came to exist. Wondering how the hell this never happened before. Watching the way she wraps her arms around herself for warmth, shoulders shivering against iciness of the night.

That's what finally finds your voice. "You cold?"

A shrug, followed by a slight smile. "A little. I've been worse."

Yeah. Neither of you need to pull up those memories. Forced to hide out in the truck of a camper in Alaska. That must have been a whole lot fucking colder.

You take another drag and try not to notice the way her eyes narrow on the warm smoke, or the way she chews on her lip with an embarrassed smile and turns away when she realises you caught her watching.

Yeah, you try not to notice.

You fail. Miserably. Jeans becoming damn uncomfortable; eyes drawn to the sweep of her lashes as she blinks, and flushes with colour.

Eventually she gives a backwards glance to the busy room behind her. It's an excuse. A distraction. "Anyway..." She manages to meet your gaze again. "I just wanted to say hi. It's..." a quiet smile, "...it's really good to see you again."

Is it?

You should probably say something back. But the words won't come. And instead of rambling in awkward conversation, you watch her turn, watch her walk back towards her friends, rubbing the warmth back into her hands as her fingers reach for the door that will-

"Wait."

You don't know where it came from. Or why you said it. Or why, when she turns back to look at you, you stub out what's left of your cigar and let your feet carry you over to her. Jamming your hands in your pockets to keep them to yourself.

You half expect her to back off, but she doesn't. Instead she looks up at you. A slight frown, a question, marking her face. "What is it?"

What is it? It's a hundred things you never knew before. A hundred things you can't say. A hundred things you don't know how to contain. The need to pour everything that's driving you, into her. The emotions so long buried, welling up until you loose track of where they begin and reason ends and you wonder if you even care.

"...Logan?"

When she shivers again, you watch.

Then you lean in close; nostrils burning with the spiking scent of desire. Hers? Yours? You don't know. But it surrounds you, and when you finally find the words to answer her, you can't stop the heat that floods your voice.

"Let me warm you up."

When your pulse thuds.

When your blood thickens with lust. With anticipation.

When you wait for her reaction. Watching with a predator's eye; the way her expression slides through emotions. Confusion, disbelief. Nervousness. The way it settles on something deeper. Something older. Something she's not sure of.

Hesitation.

Did you really say it? Did you mean it?

Questions you don't know how to answer. Not with words anyway. So you lean closer. Tilt your forehead against hers until you can feel the slant of her breath across your face. Knowing it's wrong to push her. Not being able to do anything but, because... fuck you need this.

Barely an inch between you.

And you're waiting.

She swallows, and your stomach clenches. Her eyes darkening with the knowledge of what her answer will mean. But she doesn't speak. She doesn't rush. Instead she finds your hand, slowly lacing her fingers through each one of yours... until they fit. The simple gesture fine tuning every nerve in your body.

Yes.

God. The way she looks up at you through those lashes of hers. The way it sends your thought all directions at once; none of them innocent.

She lets you lead her through the darkness, senses racing as you pull her away from the sights and sounds of the celebrations, away from her friends, back to the rooms she doesn't know. Back to the rooms that are yours.

What it feels like when she looks at you, all nervous trust and warmth. The way your heart pounds so fucking hard it hurts. She jumps slightly as you shut the door behind you, and the feeling jolts right through you. The knowledge of what you are about to do crackling like electricity over your skin. Over her skin.

Stepping closer. Fingers going to the streaks in her hair; somewhere familiar. They've been there before. Flickers of memories. A raised eyebrow in a doorway, and a sassy reply. I kinda like it. Safe ground.

But her pulse is humming beneath her skin, and you let your hands slide lower. Watching her face as you cross those barriers. Down the soft green of her sweater, hitching into the belt loops of her jeans. Pulling her closer. Standing on that precipice. Accusations running furiously through your thoughts; screaming reasons why you shouldn't be doing this. She's young. She was your student. You're taking advantage.

And none of them making a damn bit of difference.

Because when lower your head and feel that shiver running through her. When your mouth finds the heat of hers, when she kisses you back just as damn hard, lust kicks through you like a violent drug that pulses through every muscle in your body, until the only thing that you know is that this is exactly what you need.

Hungry against the softness of her mouth; her fingers curling hard into your side as you taste her. Hands drawing her closer. Deeper. Thumbs wondering upwards on her hips, impatiently sliding up the dark green material, shuddering as hers find their way under your shirt.

You watch the way her pupils dilate when you take her hand and slide it downwards, press it against you. Feel her breathing quicken at the groan that escapes you.

God, you shouldn't be doing this. You should not be here. She shouldn't be here. But there's no fucking way you are going to stop.

Clothes begin to form a puddle around you. Her hands fumbling with the newness of it all; yours leading, showing. Teaching her things she shouldn't be learning from you. Drowning in the softness of her skin and the sounds she makes. The things you whisper in her ear. The way the bed sinks beneath you; her hair fanning out across the white of the pillow; your arms straining with your weight. The swollen surge that rocks through you as you... you... God...

Fists clenching into the sheets beside her. The heat that every movement brings. Your name tripping off her lips, lost amongst the soft cries that drive you to a frenzied edge. The way her legs scramble higher on your hips as you thrust your body into hers again and again and again. Sweat trickling down your back. Life surging through your veins. Forehead to forehead as you loose yourself in her, strangled sounds of pleasure torn from your lips as her body writhes into yours and everything that's consuming you is ripped from you.

Until you're spent.

Until you're dizzy with sated lust and warm exhaustion.

And you realise that you're nothing without this.

So you wrap yourself around her, breathing in the liquid way she looks at you, and you don't give a damn about what the rest of the world may think. Hands smoothing over her skin until her heartbeat begins to slow, and her eyelids drift heavy with sleep.

And as you shift lazily between that veil of waking and oblivion, you clutch one thought like a lifeline.

This time, you'll do anything to make her stay.