"I heard what you told the detective. Now I want to know the truth."

"You think I'm lying? God, L, give it a rest."

"Not just me. The detective thinks it, too. Knows it. He may talk like some country boy who just fell of the hay wagon, but he's sharp, Ashley. Sharp, dedicated and relentless. Rumor has it that he wants Floyd Dodd's job as county sheriff. All he needs is the right kind of publicity--this kind."

"Well, he's not getting it from me."

Ignoring his coffee, he tried to pass but she lodged her body firmly in the door. Her chin thrust out, determination stiffening her back, she glared up at him.

"Move, L," he ordered.

Trembling inside, she tried to rein in her emotions. Be professional. Take yourself out of this. Keep your distance and study the situation objectively. Without emotion. As if you were on camera reporting a story. Impossible. With Ashley, she was always riding the gut-wrenching back of emotion.

"Look, Ashley, if we're going to start over, we'll need to begin by telling the truth."

"Like you've always done with me."

"I've tried-"

"Like hell, L.K."

He tried to swing by her, but she wouldn't budge. His chest was rising and falling, his skin flushed with rage.

"Besides, I never said a word about starting over. I think I agreed to cohabit with you as long as you left me alone. I believe I agreed to 'try again.' No promises. No strings attached."

"We can't do that unless you're honest."

"That goes two ways, L. You haven't exactly been straight with me."

"What do you-"

"I know you've been conducting your own little investigation. Calling around, collecting five-year-old information about the fire at the gristmill. About Abbi's death. About Andy's disappearance. That's what this all boils down to, isn't it? Andy."

He spat his brother's name as if it tasted foul. His nostrils flared with rage.

"Don't try to act so innocent. I know why you're trying to solve this damned mystery; so that you can have the scoop of the century."

She felt as if he'd kicked her. "I never-"

"I've seen the file, Lindsay. Read your notes on the computer. I'm starting to wonder if you wanted us to 'work things out' so that you could spend your days trying to drag information out of me and end up the town hero by solving the crime."

"You're crazy. I'm not working on a story. Other people have been assigned to the fire." She hitched her chin toward the open newspaper.

"And you'd love to show him up, wouldn't you? This should be your story. It's about your family. I can see it in your eyes, Lindsay. You're pissed."

"For the love of God, Ashley, you can't really believe that I'm in this for the glory."

He didn't respond, just looked down his broken nose at her. Sick inside, she whispered, "You think I wanted you to stay here so I could further up my career."

"Why else?"

"Because..." She stopped short of saying the generous words that wanted to fall from the tip of her tongue. "Because..." I want to fall in love with you screamed through her brain though she wasn't certain she could ever love him or that he would love her. They'd become so used to wounding each other, to expecting another emotional blow, that they couldn't trust each other, not even a little.

He didn't make a move for the door, just stared at her with such an intensity that she could barely breathe, hardly think. Close enough that his breath was warm against her face.

"Anything else you want to discuss, or are we going to stand here all day?"

She asked him the question that had been nagging at her ever since the fire--something about his attitude. "What is it you're afraid of, Ashley?"

He hesitated.

"What is it?"

The seconds ticked by and she refused to wither under his stare. His chest rose and fell as quickly as hers, and she heard the soft rush of air as it escaped his lungs.

"You," he whispered and she barely heard the single, damning word. "I'm afraid of you, L.K."

"Me? Why?"

"I don't want to get too close to you again," he admitted. "It's just not safe."

She gazed at him silently, heart thudding.

The muscles tightened in his neck and he looked away. "Damn it, L."

"You're going to leave, aren't you?" she guessed, aching a little.

A flicked of regret crossed his face. "I won't have a choice. Now, get out of the way, Lindsay. Don't make me a prisoner."

"Ashley..."

He pushed past her. "Stop trying to make something out of nothing. I agreed to your charade. To live with you, stay in the same house. Hell, I even decided I could pretend that we were happy. For your parents. For the police. For the whole damn town, if that's what you want, but when we're alone, I expect you to leave me the hell alone."

Her reflex was instant. She raised her arm, wanting to hit, to scream, to kick her way past the shield he'd put up between them.

He laughed. A dark, sarcastic sound that ripped wickedly through the room as she slowly dropped her hand. The laugh sounded so familiar, taking her back to a time where she was a foolish teenager.

"Can't hit a cripple, L?"

"You self-pitying bastard!"

"Now, that's more like it."

"I don't know what happened between us," she said, refusing to back down, "but I believe it can be fixed."

"Marriage isn't like an old broken-down Pontiac, Lindsay. Both parties have to want it to work."

"Fight me all you want, Ashley Biersack, but I'm not giving up on us."

"You did once," he charged, and she cringed inside. He was right.

"And for that, you'll never forgive me."

"There are so many things between us we couldn't start forgiving them all."

"We could try."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say about hell freezing over." He plunged his crutches ahead of him and swept past her, moving quickly, but awkwardly throughout the house.

Despair stole into her heart, but she refused to give up hope. Damn it, she could be as stubborn as he. And she'd find a chink in his emotional armor if it killed her, though she was afraid that it was guilt, not love, that drove her.

---

Sometimes the tension in the house was more than Lindsay could take. The glowering glances, the short responses, the ever-present feeling that there was a storm brewing, right under the surface, whenever she and Ashley were in the room together. The wires holding his jaw together had been removed. He buried himself in the work that a messenger brought from the office or in his physical therapy, which was twice daily now, the therapist coming each morning and late afternoon. Ashley had insisted that he wanted to improve as quickly as possible. He'd push himself to be whole again.

He avoided being alone with Lindsay and yet there were times when she was certain he'd been staring at her, not in hostility, but as if he were trying to figure her out. And he wasn't as immune to her being a woman as he'd like to let on. She'd felt the heat of his gaze on her back when she swam in the lake, part of her daily ritual.

Early each summer morning, when the sun was barely up, the water ice cold, the stars just beginning to fade, she'd carry her towel to the edge of the pond, let her robe fall into the sand and swim naked as she had for as many summers as they'd had the lake. When they had first moved back here, Ashley would often sneak out to the water's edge, watch her for a few minutes, then join her. They'd make love in the water or later, when he would carry her laughing back to the house and drop her, wet and chilled, onto the bed.

Over the years, he'd stopped following after her, stopped showing any interest in her at all, stopped making love to her. She'd wondered if he'd taken a lover, but it didn't seem his style and she never found any evidence nor heard any rumors to suggest he was involved with anyone else. She'd even asked him once, and he'd laughed at her. That night he'd made love to her. Not tenderly, but roughly, angrily, as if he were trying to exorcise some inner demons that he kept secret from her.

Now, he was interested again, she thought as she cinched the belt of her robe tight around her waist and hurried out the back door, letting the screen door bang shut. Her feet were bare as she followed the flagstone path that cut through the gardens and lawn before the stones gave way to a sandy trail curving through sun-bleached grass that brushed her calves and knees, and bent in the breeze.

As she had since the weather turned hot, she dropped her robe under the tree, took three steps across the sandy strip of beach and ran into the water. Cold as an arctic storm, it nearly burned her skin. She dived deep, following the contour of the bottom of the lake, feeling her body tingle in the frigid depths before she rose to the surface, flinging her hair from her eyes and gasping with the cold.

"Feel good?" Ashley's voice seemed to reverberate through the morning. He was standing at the edge of the water, wearing faded jeans with one leg cut out for his cast, no shirt and propped up on one crutch. He'd given up his eye patch two weeks before.

"Great."

She was treading water, aware that her breasts were white in the darkness, her nipples round and visible through the ripples. Just like Abbi had been aware when she'd lured Andy to the pool all those years ago.

"You should join me."

"I don't think so. With the cast, I could drown."

"I wouldn't let you," she said breathlessly, and his face relaxed a little.

"You don't have to be my savior, L. You don't owe me anything."

The wind whispered across the lake, stirring up the water as they gray light of dawn was fast turning golden over the ridge of mountains to the east.

"I'm your wife."

He pinned her with a harsh glare. His face was beginning to take shape again. Though not the same, he was starting to resemble himself.

"I shouldn't have come out here."

"Why did you?" she asked, swimming close to the shore.

"Couldn't sleep."

His gaze never left her, and even in the cool water, she felt his heat. Her skin tingled as her toes found the sandy bottom of the lake. This attraction was something neither could deny, but they'd both ignored it. It was safer that way.

"Neither could I."

She walked out of the water, twisting the moisture out of her hair and acting as if it was nothing out of the ordinary to stand naked before him.

"You haven't had your swim."

"It's okay."

Her robe was on the ground, but she ignored it. She studied him a moment and her throat caught, aware of the changes inside her, the feelings that couldn't tamp down and didn't begin to fathom. Her skin tingled when he didn't look away.

"Ashley-"

He closed his eyes.

She wrapped chilled arms around his middle and he quivered, the touch of her wet skin against his warm flesh sending a tremor through him.

"Get dress, Lindsay," he muttered, though he didn't say it with much conviction. "I've got coffee started."

"I don't want coffee, at least not yet." She angled her face up to his and saw the flare of interest in his eyes

"What do you want?"

She didn't have an answer. She just waited.

His newly mended jaw, still partially wired, seemed to clamp down harder. "I can't-"

She kissed him then. Pressed her wet lips to the bare skin of his chest. There were scars on his skin, burn marks, scratches that had healed, but he didn't flinch.

"Oh, God." The sound was torn from his throat. "No-"

With a dry, desperate gasp, he wound his fingers in her wet hair and pulled her head back angrily.

"Don't start something you can't finish," he warned. "L, I-"

Her fingers found the top button of his fly. With a loud pop, his waistband opened and a series of snaps resounded like the ripple of muted gunfire ricocheting across water.

"Don't--I told you I don't want you to touch me." Rasping, painful words. Lies.

"Ashley, please, let me-"

"No!" But she felt him surrender. The steely resolve wavered and the crutch fell with a thud to the sand. Leaning against her, he balanced as his good arm surrounded her shoulders. Strong muscles dragged her close. "You're dangerous," he growled.

"So are you."

They tumbled to the ground and she kissed his battered face feeling his lips against her own, tasting of him and losing all control. He was warm and a hard and hot on this shimmering summer morning. While dawn chased the stars away, she held him close, loving him, feeling his hand touch her already-stiff nipple, sighing into his mouth.

Her fingers explored the surface of his skin, taut skin over ribs and firm muscle, sinewy flesh that seemed to grow more taut with her touch.

"You don't know what you're doing--Oh, God."

She slid her hands into his pants, her fingers grazing the hard texture of one thigh as she delved into his boxer shorts, and surrounded his erection with cool fingers.

His abdomen retracted, giving her more access. A groan escaped his lips and he closed his eyes, holding her close, dragging her body over his until she lay atop him, naked and straddling, her breasts plump and poised over him. He touched her, gently at first, then more roughly as he held her with his casted arm and fondled her with his free hand. Her back arched of its own accord and she offered herself to him, two proud peaks, with stiff little nipples hovering above his face.

Shuddering at the touch of his tongue, she let out a sigh as soft as the wind and felt the first burst of sunlight touch her back.

"Lindsay," he said, his voice filled with emotions she couldn't begin to understand. "We can't-"

She quieted him with a kiss. The words were too desolate, destroying the beauty of the morning. Closing her eyes, she listened to her body, to the desire singing through her veins, the rapture being murmured in her heart.

He sucked gently at first, kissing and tasting, then more ardently, holding her fast, causing her heart to thrum, her breath to be quick, shallow whispers.

"Sweet Lindsay," he said, his voice rough and needy as her fingers worked their magic.

She stroked him and kissed him and loved him, knowing that while his leg cast was in place, sh would have to be satisfied with touching. He didn't try to stop her, just succumbed to the magic of her touch, straining, writhing, fighting the inevitable, and when at last he let go, release was quick--a convulsion that caused him to lift from the ground before settling down again.

He grabbed her back and held her close. "You didn't have to--"

"Shh," she whispered against his chest. "It was time, Ashley."

"But you didn't-"

"It's all right."

He stared deep into her eyes. His own determined shade of blue. "Roll on to your back."

"What-"

"It's your turn."

She laughed. "Hey, I'm not keeping score." She reached for her robe. "This doesn't have to be even."

"Of course it does." He clasped a strong hand over her forearm, causing the terry cloth to drift from her fingers.

"Ashley-" But he was relentless. He moved quickly, forcing her on to her back, and then holding her down with his casted leg, he began his ministrations. Slowly he touched her. One finger tickling her spine, while his lips found soft crevices and valleys she'd forgotten existed.

He explored her with experienced fingers and a tongue that caused liquid heat to burn deep within her soul. Her body, so long ignored, turned torrid. Sweat clung to her skin as he slowly parted her legs and his fingers delved deep, sliding easily to her warmth, causing her mind to spin in wild erotic circles. She twisted on the sand, gasping for breath, bucking anxiously as he kissed her belly, her breasts, her thighs. She couldn't stop herself, felt the first rush as he whispered her name.

"Lindsay, oh, love-"

The world collided.

Lights exploded behind her eyes, sending sparks of vibrant colors that melded somewhere deep in her heart and far away to the ends of the universe. She lay gasping, drinking in the sight of him and wondering about their future. Together? Apart? Her throat ached with the need to know, the desire to trust him and love him and close her eyes to the rest of the world.

"Satisfied?" he asked in a voice devoid of emotion. Sitting on the sand beside her, he'd somehow managed to button his pants. Regret shaded his eyes.

"Yes, but--"

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" The words cut like the bite of a whip, and yet there was more than anger etched in the lines of his face. "Or at least the best I can offer right now."

"I don't understand-"

He stared across the lake. "You wanted to seduce me and you did."

"Me--seduce you?" she said, her senses suddenly clear again, anger chasing away any lingering hint of afterglow. "You followed me out here."

"Just like you expected me to. You knew that I couldn't stay away, didn't you?"

"I didn't--"

"Don't lie, L," he said, pulling himself upright by his crutch and staring down at her. His mouth, so warm and loving only minutes before, had flattened into a thin, unforgiving line. "It doesn't become you."

The spell of the morning was shattered.

"Get dressed," he said, ramming his crutch into the sand. "Someone else might see you, and you could get more than you bargained for."

"You arrogant, self-serving son of a bitch," she cried. "You think I'd--"

"I don't know what to think, Lindsay, because I really don't know you anymore."

"Ash-"

"And you don't know me."

He staggered away and she was left staring at the smooth muscles of his back. Seamless and fluid, they served to remind her just how much she wanted his touch, how anxious she was for him to make love to her, how desperate she'd become.

"Fool," she ground out, kicking at the sand and throwing her robe over her shoulders. Cinching the belt, she watched as he disappeared around a bend near the patio. She felt a nagging little thought--something more than her fury--something deeper and worrisome, but she couldn't, for the life of her, understand what it was.

Notes

Lately, I keep imagining Brendan Urie as Andy's brother. I probably shouldn't change the character this late into the story and it is a BVB fanfic, but can't help imagine Brendan XD
On the other hand, it is weird that as Ashley's face is recovering, he doesn't really look like himself.

Each chapter is named after a song I was listening to that gave me inspiration while I was writing.

Human