Summary: Set after R&R, almost three months down the track. It's a night full of surprises for the lovebirds. Standalone piece.

Author: NicoleMack

Rating: G

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She awoke and looked around the empty apartment through half-closed eyes. It was still too early for her to be awake on a Saturday, but the sun shining through the window had crept across to the bed, hitting her cool skin and warming her up until she could fight it no longer.

She glanced at his side of the bed, sighing dejectedly. This had almost become a ritual, a part of every morning she spent there. A part of every night he spent at her place. It wasn't something she enjoyed at all, having to do almost every day of the week, but she would live with it, and would manage to convince him, at least a couple times a month to sleep in with her, so she could wake up knowing he was still beside her, perhaps even feel his arms wrapped tightly around her.

In some ways, the relationship was still young. They had yet to pass the three-month mark, but they felt as though it had been far longer, that time multiplied by a dozen.  This proved to be a strange combination, as this thing that she hated was something she was still struggling with. This whole side of the relationship was still in its infancy, while everything else had fallen into place, or really, was already in place before the fateful night of their first kiss. They knew each other well, they got along, they could converse easily. Even with the butterflies that suddenly leapt in her stomach at that first kiss, she was still able to talk to him. That was all easy. It was the intimate part that had her flustered at first, and now she was only just becoming accustomed to it. Not to say it had ever been awkward or bad. It had always been amazing, but she still found herself surprised from time to time, whether it was waking in the middle of the night, or simply watching him as he fell asleep afterwards, that it was him. She couldn't comprehend sometimes, how he had come to cross that line from friend to lover, and that she had been willing, eager even, for it to be crossed.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, thinking back to the events of the previous night. They had been snuggled together, basking in the afterglow of making love, her head on the pillow, tucked into the space between his neck and shoulder. His arm rested across his chest, his fingers threaded through her hair, stroking her head from temple to neck.

"I love your hair," he had admitted, surprising her with the affectionate comment. It was so unlike him to admit to anything so revealing.

"I hate it," she had replied immediately, "I have to fight with it every day to make it do what I want."

"It's beautiful. It's so thick," he had continued, burying his hand deeper among the soft curls.

"There's too much of it, and it's curly and if I don't use a dryer, I look more like Michael Jackson during the Jackson 5 period. I'm telling you, it's not a good look, and if you ever saw it, I guarantee you'd run screaming."

"Not possible."

"Oh you really have no idea," she warned him.

"Doesn't matter. I'd love you anyway."

She had frozen at this moment, because it was the first time he'd ever said that to her. She knew how hard it must have been for him to do, and wondered if he'd planned the whole conversation from the first hair comment, hoping that it would end exactly the way it just had.

"What did you just say?" she asked, shifting her head slightly to look him in the eye. She needed confirmation that she had not just made that up, that it had not been a voice in her head.

"You heard me," he replied, clearing his throat and shifting slightly, obviously uncomfortable about being put under the spotlight.

"Well, I just wasn't sure. I need to hear it again just so I know it was really your mouth that.." he had interrupted her at that moment, pressing said mouth tightly against hers and kissing her with all he had in him, proving through his actions just how true his words had been.

When they finally came up for air, he stroked the side of her face with his thumb; that one hand still buried in her hair, and told her again, "I love you."

She had flashed that smile at him then, the one that only he ever saw. The smile that told him he'd just done or said the right thing. Then, she gave him the reply he'd been hoping, but not expecting to receive. "I love you too."

She stretched lazily, grinning like a fool as she felt the rush of emotions his words had elicited only hours before, deciding that it was time to get up, shower and run home to change.

This too, had become a ritual. She dragged herself into the bathroom, and knew what to expect when she came out fifteen minutes later. The first time, she had figured it was a coincidence, the second she was wondering how he knew, and the third she had asked him outright how he managed to appear every time she was showering, a mug of coffee waiting in his hand. He had explained that he could hear the pipes creaking as she turned on the water, so he knew what she was doing. She accepted this and kissed him, taking the mug and savouring the steaming brown liquid.

So it continued every morning that she was in his apartment, showering, greeting him with a kiss and taking the proffered drink, then dashing home to dress before her hair dried and the Michael Jackson theory could be proven. She grumbled about it every morning too, it being her reason for running off so quickly, despite the desire she always had to stay and lock him in there with her.

On this particular morning, he watched her go, rushing out the door as she twisted her wet hair into a knot to keep it from drying too quickly. He thought back to what she'd said the previous night, and decided he would do something about it, so that he wouldn't have to see her go so quickly ever again.

He went to the store during the mid afternoon lull, asking the assistant for help, and thanking the powers that be that Kirk wasn't working in this particular store. When he got home, he hid the object in his closet, under the blankets on the top shelf so she wouldn't find it. It was the end of summer, so there was absolutely no reason for needing a blanket anytime in the near future.

He convinced her to stay at his place again that night, and since she was already in the diner, lazily sipping coffee, she readily agreed, since his bed was far closer than her own and would take less effort to get to.

The next morning, when the alarm sounded promptly at five-fifteen, he extracted himself from her embrace, and crept into the bathroom to shower and dress, pausing at the closet to grab the hidden item. As he showered, he realised she had barely stirred at the sound of the alarm. He was glad that she seemed to be getting used to it. He really didn't want her to be woken at that hour of the morning, partly for his own safety, and partly because he cared about her enough to want her to get all the sleep she craved. When he was ready, he paused by the bed, bending to plant a soft kiss at her temple before exiting downstairs.

He heard the water being shut off just as he returned two hours later, and he waited, staring at the closed bathroom door, waiting for her reaction. It was swung open forcefully, and she bounded out, wrapped in a towel and still dripping wet, clutching the box to her chest.

"You are gonna get so lucky tonight mister," she grinned, planting a kiss against his lips.

"I am, am I?"

"Oh yeah. Next to diamonds, a hair dryer is a girl's best friend," she replied, looking back at the box in her hands. She flashed him that smile again, before turning and heading back to the bathroom, and he was surprised to find the cup of coffee still in his hands, completely ignored.

End.

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