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Not knowing
Amanda Tapping/Robin Dunne
Rated PG

Amanda wakes in the middle of the night. She gets up, knowing she should leave, but she doesn't make it any farther than the edge of the bed.

Robin's room is messy. He's a messy guy; he doesn't keep things neat and orderly. His apartment looks like a permanent bachelor pad. It's so much the opposite of her house, where there are family photos on the wall, art and decorative candles grade school artwork neatly displayed in frames. She has a housekeeper twice a week and a husband that knows not to leave his socks on the floor and it's cozy, cute, some place she doesn't mind entertaining.

Robin's apartment isn't like that at all. Dirty dishes in the sink, cabinets with mismatched plates... he has nice things, but it's obvious it isn't a priority to him. There's always beer in the fridge and he's got a bar better stocked than his pantry. His clean clothes don't often make it past the hamper and some days he shows up on set in wrinkles t-shirts not really caring, since he knows they'll just re-dress him anyway.

The thing is, Amanda realizes, when she's around him she becomes like that; not that she forgets who she is but none of it quite seems to matter as much when she's naked with him, his hands on her body, his laughter infectious.

But this isn't her. She doesn't know how long she can live this life, walk this knife's edge of being in his world and in her own at the same time. What they're doing is wrong and she'd never considered before that she might meet someone she couldn't resist but every time she tries to take a step back she ends up falling forward again.

"Sneaking out on me, Tapping?" Robin's sleepy voice mumbles and she feels a hand on her naked him. She turns her head, looking over her shoulder at him. He's still on his back, eyes shut, but his fingers curl against her skin.

She should leave. She should, but she doesn't. She sits and looks at his boxers at her feet and the way there's nothing on his walls and she doesn't leave, because she needs to but she doesn't want to.

Her husband never questions her. Late hours, long nights, script rewrites, editing snafus, production schedules. He believes it all, always, and it's so often the truth that slipping a lie in here or there has become easy.

Sometimes it's shocking to realize how many people can't tell a scripted lie from the truth; not even her husband, because it just wouldn't ever occur to him that she's got something to hide.

He opens his eyes now, looking at her. "'manda?"

"I just wanted something to drink," she says.

His fingers trail up her back, touching the ends of her hair. "Liar. You were gonna take off."

Robin pays closer attention than most people. He reads her, knows her. It's that attention that made her sit up and take notice; those eyes prickling on her skin just the wrong side of subtle enough, reminding her what chemistry feels like. She's greedy for it now, finding him across the room sometimes, moving in ways that beg him to just keep watching and he never fails to deliver.

"I just..." She sighs. "I don't know."

Robin rolls onto his side. "Me either. So lets not know together."

She looks over her shoulder again, then smiles at him. She turns and sits back against the headboard, giving up and giving in. Maybe she'll come to her senses soon... but not tonight.

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December 2011

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