Brennan had a table big enough for two against the wall in the kitchen, and Devon took an empty seat.  He placed a plate with eggs, bacon, and toast in front of her.

“Coffee?” he asked with a smile.

“Sure,” she said.  “Lots of cream and sugar though.”

He laughed again, obliging.  After pouring his own coffee, he took the seat across from her, and they ate in comfortable silence.  Last night felt like a lifetime ago.  But Brennan liked her; he had told her.  Well, at least, he had kind of told her.  He had told her in a completely Brennan kind of way.  It made her sigh happily as she ate.

Despite his protests, Devon helped Brennan clear the table, and then she washed off her plate and placed it in the dishwasher.  When he finally pushed her out of the kitchen, she walked over to the couch and sat back down.  She flipped on the television to some random channel and waited for Brennan to return.  It didn’t matter what was on TV because she wasn’t really paying attention.

A couple minutes later, Brennan walked into the living room.  He slid into the seat next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.  She leaned back against him, snuggling into his chest, and he intertwined their hands in her lap.  It was comfortable and nice.  How long had it been since she had felt like this?  It had been at least a year, probably longer, since she had done this with Reid.  She couldn’t remember that far back, back when it had been different, and she didn’t want to think any more about it.  She wanted to be content.

They sat like this through the mindless television show.  Devon couldn’t have told anyone what happened on the show, but she knew the rhythm of Brennan’s heart, the small movements he made when he nestled closer to her, and the soft caress of his fingers on her hand.

When the show ended, Devon shifted to reach for the remote, but Brennan moved first.  He clicked the power button, and the screen went black.  Devon turned her face up to him, her eyebrows scrunching together.  When she found him staring down at her in adoration, all the tension eased from her face.  His hand moved and tugged lightly on the hair tie, freeing her long locks to fall down around her face.

“I love your hair,” he said, running his hand through one side, causing her to shiver.  “I love when you wear it down.  I love when it irritates you, and you throw it all over one shoulder.”

His hand brushed her hair to expose her neck, his fingers trailing lightly across her skin.  Her breathing turned shallow, and her eyes darted to his lips and then back to his eyes.

“I love your big blue eyes, and the way they can find me in a crowd even when you don’t mean to.  I love your lips that you constantly bite out of frustration, that you suck on when you’re writing lyrics in your journal, that you pucker when deciding on what to order.”

Devon swallowed.  She couldn’t breathe.

He leaned forward, cupping her chin with his hand.  “I really love your lips,” he whispered softly before pressing his lips against hers.

This time, Devon sighed into him, not even thinking about pulling away.  She was lost—mind, body, and soul—to the man before her.  Somehow, along the way, he had captured not just her lips but all of her.  How had she evaded him for so long?

His tongue stroked her bottom lip and opened her mouth.  She met him tentatively at first, and then she wholly indulged in the feel of him.  Her senses intensified all at once, feeling the softness of his lips against hers, the calluses on his hands touching her skin, his taut body pressing into her.  His scent clouded her mind, and she forced herself not to move too fast.  His fingers moved to knot in her long hair, and she moaned lightly into his mouth.

Being kissed this way was like tasting the first strawberry of the season—so sweet and way better than you ever remember.

They remained kissing leisurely, distractedly, happily until Brennan remembered that he actually had to go into work that day.  Devon didn’t have many days off, and since she had worked so hard the day before, today just happened to be one of those days.

Brennan left to take a shower, and Devon pulled out her phone, trying not to envision him naked.  She wasn’t having much luck.

She had turned off her phone last night because she hadn’t wanted to be disturbed.  Mostly, she hadn’t wanted Garrett to call her.  When the screen brightened and finally reached a signal, her phone lit up with messages, missed calls, and voice mails.

What the hell? she thought, clicking on the first message.

She had expected Garrett to leave one or two texts and maybe a voice mail, asking her to come back.  Maybe he would even apologize for his behavior.  But thirty-two messages and five voice mails?  That was just absurd.  What was his problem?

Devon didn’t even want to read the messages.  She clicked out of them and turned to the voice mails.  These were all from this morning.  She shrugged and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Devon, you might hate me, but answer your phone!”

She stopped the message, not willing to hear the rest.  The next one started playing right after that.

“It’s Hadley.  She’s in the hospital.  She’s at Northwestern Memorial.  I don’t care if you hate me, but think of Hadley.”

The voice mail ended, and Devon stared down at her phone in shock.  All the softness and ease of being with Brennan this morning drained out of her face…out of her whole body.  Hadley was in the hospital.  Shit!

Devon jumped off the couch in a rush, throwing her phone into her purse.  She slammed her hand down on the bathroom door just as the shower shut off.  Brennan cracked the door, holding a towel around his waist.  He was still wet, and his hair was hanging low, almost over his eyes.  She was momentarily distracted by him.

Then, she shook her head and reminded herself what was really important.  “Hadley,” she gasped out.  “Garrett called, and she’s in the hospital.”

“What?” he cried, rushing past her.  “What hospital?”

“Northwestern Memorial.”

“That’s not far from here,” he told her.  “Let me throw on some clothes, and we’ll go.  I’ll call Jenn from the car.”

Devon wasn’t sure why, but her mind focused on the strangest things under stress.  Brennan had a car?

BRENNAN KNEW HIS way around Northwestern Memorial better than Devon thought most people should be able to maneuver a hospital.  Devon was anxious and kept bumping into him as they walked through the building.  The ride over had been extremely short.  She had almost felt bad taking a car, considering the L wouldn’t have been much more effort.  But she did enjoy watching him, albeit reluctantly under the circumstances, driving his little Jetta Hybrid through the busy streets with his Wayfarers on.

He found what he was looking for and approached a desk with a lanky man standing behind it.  “Excuse me, we’re here to see Hadley Bishop,” Brennan told the man.

The man scanned his computer, running his finger along the screen.  “Ah, she’s in the ICU.  Go straight down this hall, then turn—”

“Thanks, I know the way,” Brennan said, cutting him off and loping down the hallway.

Devon followed at his heels, wringing her hands like a maniac.  She wished she had a pen to flip, but she had already checked in her bag, and she didn’t find one.  Brennan walked down a few corridors and then stopped when they reached the waiting room to the ICU.

He steadied her before they walked to the nurses’ station.  “Do you know what she’s here for?” he asked.

“Well, I have a guess.”

Brennan nodded.  “Your guess is probably right.”

“I know,” she whispered, staring down.

“Are you ready for this?”  He rubbed her arm.

“I don’t know.”

“I wish you didn’t have to see her this way.  This isn’t like her.  She should have never overdosed.”