Home?

[freshoffthefarm]

Annie had resisted the overwhelming urge to spend the next week at Clay's apartment just in case he came home. As six days, then seven passed, she honestly thought she was going to come out of her skin if he didn't call her. Every night, she lay awake in her own bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if, during that last week, something had gone horrendously wrong.

The night of the eighth day, Annie got ready for bed, throwing herself onto it in frustration, knowing that her dreams would be restless, if she even managed to fall asleep.

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[fakes-death.livejournal.com]

Webb couldn't believe it. He made it through a month's worth of a mission in Paraguay injury free. There were no bullets, no one following him when he got back, it all went better than he could possibly imagine.

Then, as he was taking his luggage off the carosel at Dulles, he grabbed the bag the wrong way and sprained his wrist. Getting old sucked. It was in a brace and he was told not to use it for at least a week. But that didn't stop him from going to Annie's, he just arrived a lot later than he'd planned.

At four AM on day eight, Clay parked his car in Danielle's driveway, took his bag out of the trunk with his good hand, then walked up to the guest house and knocked.

[freshoffthefarm]

When her alarm went off, she pushed it off the nightstand and the crash it made on the floor actually woke her up.

"Dammit." She made a groaning noise as she rolled over and came into contact with Clay. "You're still here. Makes my morning."

He got a long kiss before she dragged herself out of bed.