You were right about one thing: I wanted you to have your best chance.

She's got absolutely no idea what's going on.

Her head is throbbing, her heart is pounding, and she'd just helped Graham break into a grave -- isn't that the kind of thing she'd normally arrest someone for? -- but all she can concentrate on right now is the fact that they're alone in the office and she's just realizing that it's really sort of dark and cozy in here with the lights mainly off, and that his hand is gentle as he cleans up the cut on her forehead, and that she sort of feels like she's never really seen Graham before.

At least, she's never seen him with this accompanying feeling of terrifying happiness.

She's still watching him as he goes to put away the cloth he'd used, and he glances over at her, smiles, slightly, quizzical.  "What?"

She doesn't have a good answer for him.  It's all too complicated to put into words, but it boils down to one thing, one thought that keeps running around through her head, settling in her heart and making it race, making it feel full almost to bursting. 

He picked her.  He picked her.  She'd pushed him away and gotten mad at him and she hadn't come here to be anything other than a friend and a partner, but then he chose her and changed everything.  

When she gets up, she feels like she's moving underwater, but he waits for her, and she can feel her hand going to his shoulder like she's a person in a dream, feels his settle at her waist, and nerves make her smile, make her feel like she's sixteen years old and out in the world for the first time on her own, when she leans up to kiss him.

And it's so sweet, something she never thought she'd ever have for herself, though she doesn't understand the single tear that falls or the way he thanks her, making her smile, a helpless, hopeless, brilliant flash of a smile that cuts through the gloom they're standing in.

"Anytime."