For Now


For Pau, Jenn, Em, and Lindsey, who watched over me as I descended into incoherence due to red wine and that episode.

And to Morgan, for keeping me on track all today.

I'm blessed to know each and every one of you.


Sunlight is filtering through the closed blinds of her living room, falling over their faces like dust settling after a windstorm. The last twenty-four hours might as well have been a storm, the thunder only a precursor to something greater, more devastating and tumultuous.

Her knees press into his stomach, toes curling against his shins. She's half-asleep, adrenaline rush draining from her body. He had a part in that. The slow leak of energy from her limbs. And now she's tired and oh so grateful that he's still here, cushioning her head on his shoulder as she drifts in and out of consciousness.

She tips her head up, finds him watching her even as his hand continues to brush through her hair. "Hey," she murmurs, lips caressing the buttons of his dress shirt.

His mouth quirks up as he shifts his legs, recrossing them on the coffee table. "Hi."

She hums, burrowing into his body. "I'm sorry," she sighs, soft as the well-worn fabric beneath her cheek. She feels his intake of breathe, the start of a protest forming under her so she reaches out and squeezes his knee. "About all of this. I'm sorry."

He leans over her, his chest bumping against the top of her head and only causing her to cuddle further into his body. "You're tired."

She huffs, smiling into his side. "Always tired lately."

"Which is why we're going to bed," he decides, sliding from under her slowly. "Come on, Beckett. Gotta help me out a bit here."

She sways on her feet as he pulls her up, listing forward into his arms and feeling the back of his calves collide with the table. "You gonna carry me or are you too old?"

"Definitely not carrying you after that remark," he mutters, looping an arm around her waist.

He sits her on the edge of her unmade bed, tugging her shirt over her head a moment before she falls back, body arching up as she stretches her arms into the comforter. She yawns, wide enough that her jaw cracks while she curls onto her side, scooting up so her head's on the pillow.

The mattress dips as he joins her, sliding against her front, hands cupping her shoulderblades. His lips smooth over her temple, painting unspoken promises into her skin. With the last bit of energy not sapped from him and the explosion and threatening senators and then him again, she reaches up between them, laying her palm against the rough stubble of his cheek, the cool press of her mother's ring at his jaw.

No longer a noose around her neck but a sparkling quiet weight as a reminder and a promise.

She loves him. Maybe she'll have the words for it tomorrow.

But for now, it's enough that they both know.