I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so unbelievably calm. My body felt as though it were floating, weightless, everything was quiet. Light within the room was sombre, tinged a rustic marigold as the sun began to rise.

My limbs motionless, my eyes moved from the clock above the dresser to my hand and fingers resting still on Dawson's bare chest. His breathing was slow, the rise and fall of his breathing comforting and steady.

Closing my eyes I inhaled a deep breath of air, holding it briefly before releasing it. The movement of my stomach against his side caused him to slightly stir, his head angled away from me shifting until his nose rest against my hair. Like I had, he had given a heavy sigh, his right arm moving, his hand reaching to my hand on his sternum.

Slowly his fingertips began to run over the skin of my hand, soothing, gentle. I felt myself smile, the small gesture forming butterflies inside my stomach.

On all occasions as such that I was lying undressed beside a man I had given myself to, I would contemplate how easy it were to wriggle myself free and make an exit without having to endure awkward conversation. Most times, it hadn't been hard, but on the rare instance they woke, it had lead to them either calling me by a name not even remotely close to my own, or them wanting my phone number to add to a list of spontaneous booty calls.

It was strange, the way that I acted after doing the deed, was exactly how men were portrayed to act. I was the one running away, I was not the one catching feelings. However, as the butterflies flittered their wings against my insides, tickling at me, I realised that this time was different. In every way possible.

A small part of me worried. I didn't know how it worked, I hadn't known that I already knew how not to act awkward afterwards, but there I was, uninterested in moving, in leaving. For the first time ever, I had wanted nothing more than to stay wrapped up between the sheets and the man beside me.

Pleased with my position, I shifted closer to Dawson, whatever way I could.

"You okay?" His raspy morning voice breathed into my hair

I lightly nodded

I felt him kiss my head, his hand on mine taking a firmer grip. His body adjusted, settling in as I had.

Breathing easy, hoping to remain twisted between the blankets and his arms, our silent space was intrusively interrupted by the hard vibrating of Dawson's mobile phone sitting on his wooden bedside table.

My eyes opened, but I didn't move, I had been subtly hoping he wouldn't either, but when he groaned he began to move from me, reaching for it.

Lifting my head from the nook of his shoulder he sat up on his elbows, pressing the phone to his ear

"James"

It was amazing how quickly his tone had changed, firm and formal, business as normal

I could hear the muffled deep voice behind the phone call and assumed it to be that of his partner Isaia. Sitting up, I hugged the white blanket to my front, guarding my insecurities.

Using firm fingertips, I rubbed my face and eyes. I debated whether to run or walk to the bathroom, I didn't want to look like I had regretted what Dawson and I had done, but I didn't want to be casual about it either, it wasn't just something casual for me, not this time. As I sat deep in thought, my skin reacted, jumping when I felt warm gentle fingers against the bare skin of my back.

I turned my head to see Dawson silently apologise while he remained on the phone. Despite my reaction he continued to run smooth lines over my skin, tracing unknown patterns as he occasionally gave the odd 'mhm' and 'okay'. I was curious what was being said on the other side, had it been about me? About my attackers and Tony's killers?

Sighing heavily, enjoying the feeling of his fingertips against my spine, I knew that I could no longer refuse my bladder of what it needed. Instead of tearing myself away, I turned my head to meet his gaze, lifting a small smile in his direction before moving myself from his touch, the bed and the bedroom. Avoiding the door within his room that I assumed to be a bathroom, I instead exited into the hallway, aiming to redress myself before his phone call had ended.

I had spent a lot longer than I usually had in the bathroom. I had taken a long warm shower, washed my hair, brushed my teeth, and attempted 3 different outfits before finalising on one. I wasn't sure why I was suddenly feeling like I needed to impress Dawson, I had been my sloth self the entire time I'd been within confinement with him and we'd still slept together, and I hadn't cared an inch about how I appeared, why now?

Settled on my appearance, I made my way downstairs, curious if Dawson remained in bed or had done what I had. How was he going to act? Would he regret what we had done? The next moments between Dawson and I would be crucial in determining where our moment had lead, how I would act.

Standing behind the kitchen counter, food cooking on the stove stop, Detective James wore his signature work uniform, his weapon and badge in place. He was focused on what he was doing in front of himself, only noticing me when I approached the island bench.

I had my arms folded over my chest, sitting on the barstool when Dawson's eyes lifted to meet mine "Sorry about that, before" he waved a hand above the air "Isaia had some news about an old case we'd solved a few months back"

I shrugged "That's okay"

"You had a good sleep last night" His smile was crooked but he attempted to hide it, turning to tend to the pancakes he was cooking "How do you feel this morning?"

"Yeah good, it was nice to get a full night sleep without medication, without.." I hesitated

"The nightmares?" He finished for me, turning again

I nodded

"Well I have to head to the office for a short time today, you're more than welcome to come or you can hang out here for a few hours" He advised me, revealing the extent as to why he was dressed so accordingly

"I'll stay here, looks like it's going to be a nice day.."

Jokingly he pointed at me "No walks"

"No walks" I affirmed with a smile.

It would have been nice, another walk to clear my mind and stretch my legs, but it wasn't worth the fight, especially now we were in such a good place

Switching the stove off, he placed a small stack of pancakes on a single plate. I watched quietly as he drizzled syrup over the top, followed by a small toss of icing sugar.

"The pancakes are made of banana and oatmeal, with a bit of added sweetness" He pointed to the top before pushing the plate towards me

"Aren't you going to eat?"

He shook his head "Not this morning, I'm late"

I was overwhelmed with appreciation, my fingers fiddling with the fork in my hand while I watched him carefully.

"I'll see you later, okay?" His body moved towards me, stopping directly in front of me. He hesitated and for a moment I wasn't sure what he was going to do, but it quickly became obvious.

He was smiling down at me, natural, relaxed, his fingers lifting to slide over a piece of my hair beside my face

"Be safe" I told him slowly

He nodded, his hand reaching to my face "Mhm" Leaning down he placed a gentle kiss to my lips

I was thankful that our night together hadn't been a regret, that it had meant something to him as it had to me. We could have pretended that it hadn't happened, continue on like it was a one time thing, but instead, we had both chosen to acknowledge it and accept it and explore whatever it was.

When I was left alone, I sighed deeply, slouching where I sat. It felt strange, unusual to have butterflies flutter inside my stomach at the touch of another. I couldn't help but smile, I couldn't control it, I couldn't deny the way Dawson made me feel, because I enjoyed it.

My pancakes were thick and fluffy, a flavour of banana noticeable. I had no idea how he'd made them, I was, and never had been a decent cook, most of the time I had skipped meals or ordered online to my door. I hadn't eaten so well since my dad had passed, and now I was being overloaded with healthy and delicious options everyday courtesy of part chef part cop Dawson James.

Being alone was something I was completely used to. I had been alone a lot through the years and it hadn't ever bothered me all that much. As I lay on the lounge outside, staring ahead at the motionless lake, I realised that being alone was okay. I had thrived being alone, I had been happy. Society always had a way of making me feel as though I had needed someone, but the truth was, I didn't, well, I hadn't.

While under protection, I acknowledged that I did in fact need someone to help me through, to protect me from the monsters that threatened to end my life. I did not wish for anyone to be in my position, but I wished that they could see it with the clarity that I could. It had opened my eyes to so many aspects of my life that I had neglected and ignored for so long beforehand. Being alone was okay, being a woman and having one night stands was okay, being exactly who I was, was okay, so was being afraid, afraid of death, afraid of the dark, afraid of nightmares. Changing my mind was also okay, because as I sat alone, I realised that I didn't want to be alone anymore, I wanted to be wherever Dawson was. He made me feel safe, he made me feel calm, he made me feel like that despite the chaos, I could forget the bad and just enjoy the good. We could joke, we could laze, we could savour the time we had with one another without thought, without effort. He was something good that had come from my horrific experience, he was what I was going to take away from the situation and keep close forever, no matter where we both ended up in the finale.

•

Over the next four weeks, little was heard or spoken of about my case. Things were moving slowly, which I had come to terms with. I was going to enjoy the ride and when the time came, I would go back to normal life.

Almost every night, Dawson and I were together, whether it was on the lounge, his bed, my bed, we would take comfort in just being together, an embrace, a moment that had become a normality. It was nice to not have to feel as though we needed to get undressed and become intimate to enjoy our time together, in fact, that had only happened a few times during our four weeks of quiet.

Burning through time, we busied ourselves in movies, series, cooking - I had even attempted to teach him about the stars, forcing him to lie on the decking one night to observe the clear skies. Through fits of laughter, he was as clueless as I was with the sky as I was about cooking, which usually ended in some kind of food fight or make out. Some nights we would stay awake until the early morning hours combing through case files, which never ceased to amaze me, even as the red labels remained restricted from me. Time seemed to melt away, and for the first time in a long time, I was happy with how things were gently flowing, until Friday afternoon, as we sat on the lounge watching a movie together, Dawson's phone rang. I knew simply by the look on his face that things were about to change.