"So," he said finally, "I asked you to move in, and you ran away. Why?"
Beckett stopped walking and stared at him. "That was blunt."
"Time for a little bluntness, wouldn’t you say?" Andrew raised an eyebrow. "I didn't see the point in dancing around the issue anymore." He sighed deeply, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets so he wouldn't reach for her. "I miss you. As lame and dramatic as it sounds, my life is not the same without you. We were so good together—I need to know why you don't feel the same way I do."
Beckett looked at him warily. "Who said I didn't?"
He studied her, disbelief in his eyes and expression. "You're going to have to explain that one to me," he said at last. "You left me the moment I asked for more, even if you were still there, physically."
Becket sighed and started walking again. He moved to catch up, match her stride. They were silent again for several moments, and then he couldn't hold his thoughts in anymore. "You're confusing the hell out of me. What do you want, really want?"
She kept her head down, her eyes on the path. "Would you believe me if I said I didn't know?"
"Hmm." He pondered that for a moment. "Is that why, then? You turned me down because you weren't sure what you really wanted?"
"I suppose," she said quietly.
"Forgive me, but that seems like a bloody poor way to find out what you DO want, to me!" His voice got louder as he spoke, and Andrew had to make an effort to calm down. He could not blow this chance. "I'm sorry—but I just can't understand this." Another pause. "Do you . . . do you just not love me? If that's the case, I'd appreciate knowing, so that I can stop torturing myself and bothering you." He hated himself for the bitterness that had crept into his tone, but he was scared. Scared of her answer.
Beckett whipped around to face him. She started into his eyes for several seconds that seemed longer than was surely possible. He tried not to let the misery that was threatening show.
"I can't blame you for thinking that, really." Finally, she spoke. "And I know I shouldn't have treated you this way, just . . . stopping, without telling you why." Now she sighed heavily, and then slowly reached out to tug on the lapels of his heavy jacket. "I do love you," she whispered. Then, lifting herself up onto her tiptoes, she leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips.
Andrew was confused, ecstatic, hopeful and wary, all those emotions fighting for control in the moment it took to register that Beckett was actually kissing him again. It felt wonderful. It felt like . . . home.
But he couldn't let himself be distracted or think that this was a promise of anything permanent. Not yet.
"That was wonderful," he whispered. It was torture to keep his hands in his pockets, but he knew he had to. "But why did you do it?"
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