In Death 10 - Witness in Death

was, you wouldn't have had a choice."
    "I should have found one." She turned her head so that her cheek rested against his shoulder, and with her eyes closed, she told him everything.
    "I know what went through her." She was better now, the worst of the sickness eased. "I know what she felt. And I saw myself in her when she looked at me."
    "Eve. No one knows better than you, or I, what vile-ness there is in the world. You did what you had to do."
    "I could've -- "
    "No." He leaned back, cupped her face so that their eyes met. There wasn't pity in his, which she would have hated. There wasn't sympathy, which would have scraped her raw.
    There was simply understanding.
    "You couldn't have. Not you. You had to know, didn't you? You had to be sure if she'd known who he was to her. Now you do."
    "Yeah, now I do. No one's that good an actress. She'll see herself, again and again, together with him. Over and over."
    "Stop. You couldn't have changed that, no matter how she found out."
    "Maybe not." She closed her eyes again, sighed. "I swiped at Peabody."
    "She'll get over it."
    "I came close to losing it, right out on the street. I nearly -- "
    "But you didn't." He gave her a little shake before she could speak again. "You irritate me, Eve. Why must you beat yourself up like this? You haven't slept in over thirty hours. You've entered into a phase of this investigation that hits so close to a personal horror most people would run away or shatter. You've done neither."
    "I broke."
    "No, Eve. You chipped." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Then you came home. Lie down for a bit. Close your eyes. Turn it off."
    "I shouldn't have told you to leave me alone. I didn't mean it."
    "It hardly matters." The innate arrogance in his voice nearly made her smile. "I wouldn't have. I won't."
    "I know. I wanted you to be here." She slid into him before he could nudge her back. "I needed you to be. And you were." Her mouth turned to his. Seeking. "Roarke."
    "You need to sleep."
    "I'm empty, and it hurts." Her hands roamed up his back, kneading. "Fill me with something. Please."
    Love filled the voids and hollows, no matter how deep, no matter how wide. He would give it to her, take it for himself. With patience, with tenderness.
    His lips brushed hers, settled, sank, until he felt hers warm and yield. Gathering her, he trailed kisses over her face, her hair, her throat. First to comfort.
    She turned into him, offering more. But his hands were light as wings, floating over her, slipping under her shirt to her flesh with long, slow strokes. Then to soothe.
    And when she sighed, when her body melted back against the pillows, he undressed her. His lips followed the trace of his fingers, gently stirring pulses. Now to arouse.
    She opened for him, as she never had for anyone else. For him, she could lay herself bare. Body, heart, and mind. And know, and trust, he would do the same.
    Without heat or demands or urgency, he nudged her up, let her linger on the crest, slide over, until her system glowed with the pleasure of belonging.
    Her heart swelled, matched its beat to his, and her arms wrapped around him like ribbons to draw him close.
    "I love you." He watched her face as he slipped inside her. "Completely. Endlessly."
    Her breath caught, sighed out again. She closed her eyes to hold on to the beauty of the moment. And let him bring her home.
    She held him close, needing for just a bit longer to have his body pressed so intimately to hers. "Thanks."
    "I hate to state the obvious, but it was my pleasure. Better now?"
    "A lot. Roarke -- no, just stay like this a minute." She kept her face turned into his shoulder. "When we're together like this, it's not like it's ever been with anyone else. It's like there never was anyone else."
    "For me either."
    She laughed, relieved that she could. "You've had a lot more anyones."
    "Who's counting?" He shifted, rolling over so that she ranged over him. The fragility was gone, he noted. There was the smooth and agile flow to her movements that characterized her.
    Her cheeks were no longer pale, but her eyes were heavy, bruised, exhausted. It made him regret not pouring a tranq into her after all.
    "Cut it out." She scooped her hair back and nearly managed a scowl.
    "Cut what out?"
    "Thinking about fussing over me. You don't have to take care of me." She didn't need the amused glint in his eyes to tell her how ridiculous that sounded under the circumstances. "All the time," she amended.
    "Let's take a