It is 3:17 in the morning when she finally lets herself into the apartment, shivering involuntarily despite her wool coat.
She hates the winter.
The summer is different. When she stumbles home at undesirable hours the heat makes her lazy, lethargic. It deepens the exhaustion. In the winter, the bitter cold of 3am numbs her, so that she literally cannot think about being exhausted. She cannot think about anything aside from being frozen. By the time she gets home she's just pissed off.
She'd driven the sedan home and the damn thing hadn't even been close to warming up enough to produce any heat on the twenty-minute drive.
Olivia kicks her boots off, depositing her keys and work bag in the living room. Right now she's consumed by thoughts of a hot shower, thick sweatpants, and blankets, lots of blankets. And then, of course, the man asleep in their bed. She hasn't seen or spoken to him in almost 36 hours, aside from a few quick phone calls. After years of walking beside her, he knows how she gets when she's working a tough case.
They don't ask much of one another. When they had inevitably had to split up and he had taken a position investigating homicides, they agreed a phone call every 6 hours or so was probably best.
"You know, just so I know you haven t been kidnapped or shot or anything," he had said, desperately trying to make light of the situation.
She had been quiet for a few moments.
Well, shit.
But that's the reality. He still doesn't really trust anyone else to watch her back, and if she's honest with herself she feels the same way about him. But they've adjusted.
After her shower, the exhaustion has officially taken over. And she's still shivering. She haphazardly rubs some cream on her face and stumbles toward the bed.
She quickly slips under the down comforter, letting the delicious warmth of her husband's body heat steal around her. As she settles into the pillows, he loops an arm around her waist and pulls her closer to him. He gives her a sleepy half smile before he rolls her beneath him and buries his face in her neck, inhaling deeply and holding her like a child might clutch a favorite stuffed toy.
He's a big teddy bear, really.
She groans in mock protest of being squished, chuckling softly and lightly scratching her nails over his back. He lifts his face and looks down at her, smoothing the hair out of her eyes.
"Hey," he rumbles, his voice deep and heavy with sleep, all he can really articulate at 3:45 in the morning.
She appreciates the simple sentiment, however. She's not up for conversation either. "Hey yourself," she murmurs.
He moves to lie beside her and she turns so that they re face to face. With her mouth so close, he can't help but press a soft kiss against her lips. She hums and leans in for more, running her tongue over his bottom lip. He gets a little distracted, moving instead to taste the soft skin of her neck.
He finds his way back to her mouth and they dance a little, barely brushing their lips together. She pulls back slightly when he chases her forward until he's had enough and cups her cheek in his palm. She can't help but love his impatience, and lets her mouth fall open against his.
They kiss for a few minutes, half asleep, just wanting to be close. Its a little sloppy, it doesn't escalate, and in fact, she pretty much falls asleep in the middle of it. He's not offended at all, having only been semi-awake himself and falling asleep soon after. He loves the fact that she used up whatever reserved energy she had left to make out with him.
Every night that they come home to one another is a blessing.
They never forget it.
