"I don't owe you anything, Denby!" and she slammed the door.

The glass Harry had been barely holding slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor. He sat for a long time with his head in his hands, fingers all tangled up in his hair. From many, many nights of habit, he laid back on the bed and began a thorough study of the cracks in the ceiling.

It took about twenty minutes for Diane to feel like an idiot. She could no longer see any light from the other room at the bottom of the door. She was tired, but just awake enough to realize that she'd acted like an ungrateful jerk. Whatever mistakes Denby had made while he was undercover with Don, he didn't deserve what she had just given him. Too exhausted and sore to argue with herself, she pulled out Bobby's shirt, folded it nicely, and crept into Harry's dark room.

The neon from the sign outside shed just enough light through the window for Diane to see him motionless on the bed. She had intended to simply leave the shirt as a goodwill gesture, but couldn't help standing there watching him.

He looked so alone, lying there in his clothes, on top of the covers. The room was empty and cold. Though sound asleep, he still wore a bit of a troubled crease between his brows as if still debating the meaning of life, even in his dreams.

She stepped near the glass on the floor and her toes felt the wet carpet as she placed the shirt carefully on the nightstand. As quietly as possible she unfolded the blanket at the foot of the bed and draped it over him. He was breathing heavily, evenly in a deep slumber. She closed her eyes and listened, and remembered how comforting it was to fall asleep to the sound of another human being breathing.

It was rhythmic and soothing, like the ocean. Just like the rush along the shore. Diane felt all the tension of the day being washed away with each ebb and flow of the waves. Minutes passed and her heart slowed as her own breath relaxed into the rocking tempo.

She sat on the edge of the bed lightly, trying to keep from waking him, and wished she could make the wound on his face go away; to erase the memory of all the violence they had suffered. Without thinking at all, she slowly laid down next to Harry and placed her hand gently on his chest, feeling his heart beating a different time to the waves.

Merciful sleep was just descending when he shifted, turned on his side and pulled the blanket over, covering them both.

Never opening their eyes, each one quietly said to the other, "Thank you," and drifted off to sleep on the tide.