She looked up at him, her eyes searching his, and she leaned up and kissed him, and it was remarkably similar to years and years ago, when he'd shot Kohn and there'd been a body bleeding out on the floor. She whispered against his lips, her fingers featherlight on his cheek. "If you're not you tomorrow, I'm not going to throw away tonight." Her eyes found his, and she pulled in a breath, her hands slipping under the hoodie, down his chest to his waist.

"I've missed you so much," she breathed, and she had to close her eyes, so that he couldn't see the pain in them, but she needed to be close, to touch him, to not lose him yet.