She'd been set free.

It was beautiful.

His body's call had been answered by her own. Freed from the suffocating loneliness that had threatened them both. Wild and unforgiving. He hadn't asked for anything she didn't want to give him - and she'd given him everything she could. Parts of her she thought were lost and gone forever - all of the gentleness that had been lurking deep within her had gently been coaxed to the surface. With each press of his lips to her skin, he'd taken a little bit more from her - and she'd let him. They were his to keep, emotions entrusted to him because he would not break them, shatter them, crush them underfoot. He would tuck them away, keep them safe without expectations or cloying words of devotion - and perhaps, another day, she would revisit those secret, sacred things. She would let him keep the parts of her that she wanted to forget, the parts of her she fought so valiantly to keep buried.

In that way, he was her sanctuary.

She could still feel the drag of his teeth, the press of his lips, the push and pull of bodies coming together - giving and taking and taking and taking. Every now and again as she went through the motions of her lab duties, she would find herself smiling. A soft, knowing sort of curve to her lips. It was nothing so grand as love - no, it was a simple realization that they'd come to an understanding, an acceptance of one another. An odd sort of peace, their own little secret. As she'd died infinite times in his arms while they'd been captured in the lair, she'd died a million infinite times in his arms throughout the night, allowing him to unravel her - to seek and disassemble all the walls she'd built, if only for the duration of their time spent together.

Perhaps she was his sanctuary, as well.

Each thudding ache, each burn of her body was a constant reminder of him. She cherished every slight bruise left behind, every mark of his hands and teeth and lips. While they'd made no promises to one another, there was no denying that they'd both trusted the other with their weaknesses, their loneliness. She did not want to change him, and he did not want to change her. She wanted nothing more than the untamed passion, the closeness that he could provide to her. Was it selfish? Absolutely, yes. Had she corrupted him? Had she awakened his self-doubts, had she feasted on his insecurities, lured him in, kept him close?

No.

He'd been a comfort. Perhaps, in the grandest scheme of things, he'd been a means to an end - every woman needed a first lover. Wash was a man she could trust. A friend - a weakness - a strength - an ally. Everything wrapped up together. He would not turn on her, he would not betray her. He was a man with faults of his own.

It was simple, and yet so very, very complicated.

She couldn't stop thinking about him. There were times she thought she could taste him still on her lips, that his scent was permanently branded on her body. There were times that her thoughts strayed too far, into the realm of the what ifs - what if anyone found out? What if he was placed in danger because of the enemies she'd made?

When it came down to it, she'd have to trust that he could fight his own battles. She couldn't protect him, and she didn't expect him to protect her.

It was what it was, and as their time together had come to an end, they'd both been content to leave it as it was. Beyond her lover, he was a friend - perhaps one of the last few she had on the island. She couldn't say why it was so important that she be free to flourish - even if, in spreading her black, black wings, she became a sly and cunning raven as opposed to a sweet and cooing dove.

She was who she was, and Wash had proven time and time again throughout the deepest hours of twilight that he was capable - comfortable - willing to accept her. To use her in the same way that she used him - not an ugly thing, but full of comfort and understanding. Together they banished the loneliness that oppressed them, and in the end it had been worth it.

It had been more than worth it.

For now, she refused to contemplate the consequences. For now, she would allow her thoughts to return to the way his large, dark hands had felt. The way his breath had tasted. The anticipation of times to come.

Consequences could wait.