A / N

Guess what I'm working on for nanowrimo? That's right, buckle up for a crapload of Miles x Darcy.

x Noelle

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2 2

the one with the chocolate fountain. sorta.

NIGHT HAD FALLEN by the time Miles left the police station.

Under the streetlight in the driveway, I could see every inch of the fight he'd been through. A split lip, a cut on one cheek, a dark bruise along his jaw and another on his forehead. After exchanging a brief conversation with the cop who'd walked him out, he turned towards the parking lot.

Then he stopped short. "D-darcy?"

I smiled. "Hi."

"What...what're you doing here?"

"Waiting for you, of course. Someone had to get you out. You're lucky Mr Saito didn't want to press charges. The car his late wife left him got destroyed in that fight, and he was pretty mad about it. He didn't care which one of you guys wrecked his car. It took me awhile to convince him to not press charges against anyone. Cost me a fortune, too."

Miles blinked. "You paid him for the damages? Why didn't you call Nate, or my dad?"

"Are you kidding? Between your dad with the perfect reputation and the co-CEO of Sereinn's rival company, I was far better off settling things on my own. Besides, I've known Mr Saito all my life. His wife used to babysit Ean and me when we were kids. I'm your best bet to convince him, unless...you didn't want me to?"

"No, of course not," he said quickly. "Thank you. I'm really—thank you."

"I'm just glad you're alright." I smiled and wrapped my hand around his arm. "Now come on. Let's get you home."

He didn't budge. "It's fine. You should go home. I'll just grab a cab—"

"Oh, no, you won't." I tightened my grip on him when he made to pull away. "I know you. You'll just go to bed without treating your injuries, and tomorrow at work you'll pretend that you fell down the stairs. Which is a lot stupider than saving some kid from being beaten up, in my opinion."

He didn't say anything, but I did notice his lips twitch as he followed me to my car. Once we were on the main road, he broke the silence. "You've improved."

"What?"

"Your driving."

As we stopped at the traffic light, I briefly took my eyes off the road to look at him. In spite of the dim lighting, I saw how exhausted he looked. He'd tipped his head back against the headrest; and his eyes were closed.

"I had to eventually," I said. "I mean, I couldn't keep depending on you to drive me around after—" I stopped and bit the inside of my cheek. The last thing I wanted was to make things awkward between us again. "Why don't you get some rest? I'll wake you when we get there."

He didn't respond, but I could feel his gaze on me. I shot a glance at him. "You don't trust my driving?"

He quirked a wry grin, then winced because of his split lip. "You did rear-end a bus once."

"That was only once and, in my defense, you distracted me!"

"All I did was tell you that you were doing a good job driving."

Suddenly, I was nineteen again—on what was probably my fifth or sixth drive. Both hands on the wheel; sunlight in my eyes; torn between watching the road and watching him. "Relax," he'd told me. He'd placed a hand on my thigh, and I knew he meant it as a form of encouragement. Unfortunately, my body seemed to take it the wrong way. Next thing I knew, we were pulled to the side of the road, with a bus full of tourists stranded because of the accident.

I blushed as I remembered. "You might not know it, but you can be very distracting sometimes."

"Fine. If that's what you really want, I'll go to sleep," he said, but his tone was light and almost...teasing?

"Good. And I won't crash us, trust me."

He shifted beside me, into a presumably more comfortable position. And when he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. "I think I'm starting to again."

*

Miles's apartment building was not what I expected. It lay near the edge of the city. Low traffic, dark streets, nothing but the hum of cicadas. The old building was no doubt a grand place in its heyday, but now looked on the verge of decrepit.

"What's wrong?" Miles asked, when he noticed me linger in the driveway.

I quickly followed him into the building. "Why don't you live in a place owned by Hale & Co.? You could certainly afford it."

"Were you expecting me to live in some beach-house with a perfect view, three butlers and a big-ass chocolate fountain in the living room?"

I grinned. "Well, I won't say no to the big-ass chocolate fountain..."

He made a derisive sound. "Just because I can afford it, doesn't mean I have to have it. And I have no wish to live in a place that I deal with at work everyday. Besides," he added, as we stepped into the elevator, "it's quiet here, with low rent, and far away enough from Caverly."

I frowned. "Do you really hate Caverly that much?"

"Do you really love it that much?"

"Touché," I said, with a wry smile. The truth was that I sometimes hated it as much as I loved it. This was the town I'd grown up in. I'd had a vhappy childhood others could only dream about. It had white beaches, blue sea, and all my family and friends.

But it was also a town filled with bigotry and intolerance. A place where anyone different—a brilliant mind like Miles; a sexual woman like Flo; a tainted family history like Carson—was rejected. The more time I spent with Miles, the more I finally saw Caverly for what it really was.

After Miles hit the button for the fifteenth floor, I leaned against the wall beside him. "How's your head? And your lip?"

He shrugged. "I'll live."

He didn't seem inclined to say more, nor did I want to probe. I sighed and looked away from him. But as I did, my gaze caught landed on our reflection in the mirrored walls. I was still inches shorter than he was; the top of my head levelled with his chin. My curls a sandy blond in direct contrast to his straight, dark-brown hair; my posture relaxed as opposed to his rigid one.

Three years. We'd been broken up for three years, and yet it felt like both an eternity and a second had passed since.

As if sensing my eyes on him, he glanced up and caught my gaze in the mirror. He cleared his throat, before looking away. Thankfully, before it could any more awkward, the elevator doors opened and we headed to his apartment.

Déjà vu swept through me the moment I stepped in. I'd seen a place like this before—his office. Simple in design, impeccably neat, with an air of perfunctoriness that made it simply a house and not a home.

I ventured into the living room, well aware that Miles was watching my every move. "Where's your first-aid box?"

"You don't have to—"

"I mean it. I'm not letting you sleep off your injuries and show up to work looking like you were in an MMA fight."

He sighed and headed to the drawer beneath the television, where he pulled out a white box. I grabbed it from him and pointed to the couch. "Sit."

He narrowed his eyes at me, but settled down on the couch. I started to arrange the medicine and gauze on the coffee table. He didn't even flinch as I dabbed the cotton swab to his bruise, and I stifled a sigh.

"You know," I said, "you didn't have to do what you did earlier. I mean, we could've just called the cops. Getting hurt just to stop those boys—was it really worth it?"

His jaw tightened. "When I left Riverton, I made a promise to myself," he said, his voice low. "After spending a lifetime being bullied, I'll be damned if I ever stood by and watch that happen again. I couldn't fight back then. But now I can, and I always will."

"You can't save everyone, Miles. You know that, right? It happened back in school, it happens in the workplace and it'll happen anywhere in Caverly and even the rest of the world."

He didn't respond, not until I stood up to return the first-aid box to its place. Warm fingers latched around my wrist to pull me to a halt. I glanced back, only to find him looking up at me with a strange but familiar expression on his face. It was unguarded and the vulnerability in his gaze cut straight to my heart.

He tugged me closer so that I was mere inches away from him. "You saved me once," he said quietly. "Wasn't it...wasn't I worth it?"

"Of course you were." The answer came to me in a heartbeat. "You always are. But none of them were ever worth saving."

"Them and I—we aren't that much different."

"Wrong. None of them ever stumbled into the shack needing my help. And none of them ever stuck around for long enough after that to need me. Only you did."

His grip tightened around my wrist. A shiver glossed down my spine when his eyes flickered to my lips—his gaze so soft but intense that I could almost feel him on me. I could picture it—his mouth moving smoothly over mine; the hot glide of his tongue to tease his way in. He seemed to sense the direction that my thoughts had taken, because his eyes darkened and he urged me closer.

I found myself leaning it, then stopped. No. I didn't want to kiss him—not like this. Not when he was this vulnerable, or when he was all battered up with a split lip. I would never forgive myself if I hurt him more than I already had.

I quickly leaned up to press my lips to his forehead, right on the furrow between his eyebrows. I lingered there a momentas he went entirely still; and my breath caught in my throat at our proximity. Reluctantly, I pulled away and smiled when I saw his eyes follow me.

"Get some sleep," I whispered. "I'll let myself out."

Without waiting for his reply, I returned the box to the cupboard and grabbed my bag. I was halfway to the door when his voice stopped me.

"Darcy."

I spun round in surprise, only to find that he'd already gotten up to follow me to the door. "Drive safe. And—" he paused, swallowing hard before he continued, "—text me when you get back."

"Goodnight, Miles," I said softly, and headed down the hallway. I heard his voice, a low echo behind me.

"Goodnight, Darcy."