Pygmalion
He�s professional when they meet and shakes her hand as if she were Sam. As if she were just anyone. Only when the doors are all locked tight behind him and his dreams are haunted does he stop to wonder when exactly he gave up reason and who he did it for.
He doesn�t think it�s possible, after the many years it took him to find her, that only days should suffice to realise the truth.
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She sleeps topless. Not naked; he�s had girlfriends who did that � even Penny, occasionally � but she�s not one of them. She�s a rare breed. The kind who looks better without make up � something he can�t say about many women � and who paints her toenails in the darkest shades. He asks why and she only smiles, then hides her foot inside her fluffy slippers.
Her breasts press into his back and she�s like a furnace: hot, familiar and safe and he feels like locking the door and throwing away the key. The thought of keeping her with him haunts his every waking hour.
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He taunts her beliefs, he jokes and teases. He even yells once, but it all happens in his mind as he pretends not to observe her � calculating. It�s mathematical, of course, this reaction. He just needs to understand why her and then he�ll be able to solve this problem that�s been keeping him awake.
It doesn�t matter that friends who see him now tell him she�s the right girl despite his every effort to persuade them that there is no girl. They all think they know better and he hasn�t time to explain himself to her well-spoken satisfaction. He leaves her with a pile of files and takes the afternoon off.
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She pops gum into her mouth and he watches the way her jaw moves, transfixed. He wonders if in another life she was a sculpture, moulded by the hands of some talented, loveless artist.
�Pygmalion?� she asks, throwing the theatre tickets back onto the table. He jumps, then relaxes.
It�s alright, she can�t read his mind. At least not yet.
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He doesn�t think Leo dared touch alcohol around the lab until she joined; perhaps that too, is some kind of a sign. He closes the door to his office and leaves them in t�te � t�te before he can remind himself that he believes in the logic of science, not the whims of intuition.
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He fumbles with the bed sheets while she�s in the shower. He moves around the flat � her flat � naked, uninhibited and wonders why he never knew she had a cat. It seems unlike her and such a very old maid clich�, but he doesn�t mention a thing when she comes out looking like Aphrodite and smelling of something fruity and fresh.
�We�re going to be late,� she whispers and stands on tiptoe.
The moment her lips find his, he�s already forgotten about work.
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When he cups his hand around her hand around a dead heart, he feels her warmth, her perfection. She�s professional in the lab, passionate at home and his all throughout. She�s the ideal woman. The one he stopped trying to find at single�s bars and blind dates.
They�re the last to leave when she takes her scrubs off in front of him and helps him wash away the blood of others, his mortality. She holds his gaze as she breaks and takes him down with her; a torrent of emotion and behind it all, what may just be his future.
He wasn�t wrong to give himself up, he thinks, not if he gave himself to her.
The End