When she comes home at an ungodly hour, exhausted and perhaps a teeny bit sweaty, my favourite thing to do is to wait until she hits the mattress with the dead-weight grace of a sack of potatoes. After her breathing normalizes I turn around and pull the covers up softly, tucking them around our shoulders. A whispered goodnight and an I love you, and we fall asleep, my lips glued to her nape.
She tries hard not to disturb me when she gets in late. It's part of her job and a risk I took when she moved in. Even after I tell her it doesn't matter, which I have from time to time as a reminder, she takes my lips with hers and promises to be quieter next time. I tease her and tell her it's not in her nature to be quiet. We collapse in a tangle of arms and laughter, and that laugh makes even her fiercest tickling worth the pain in my ribs. I wish I could hear it more often.
I think it's the feeling of oneness that permeates our souls that I crave when we cuddle. I wrap us up, one large lump in the middle of my bed. The tangibility of her stirs my soul and yet calms it at the same time. I hold her as close to me as I possibly can. I marvel at the rich dark tone of her skin in contrast to mine. The feel of her hair, the slightly sweet smell of her skin, the tone of her muscles are almost mine as well. I hold her to know myself, to see beyond the superficial.
What we are is something too far down for anyone else to see. I get glimpses of it at work, when she hands me evidence like a trophy for me to use. It's there in her eyes only for a moment. It's far more obvious at home, now more than it ever was. It seems to radiate from her, in movements, breaths, and sounds. She's not a cop anymore. She's a woman. When she lies there in my arms I can feel the extent of the transformation, and I know that I have allowed it to happen. How ironic, that we understand perfectly through silence.
She's late again tonight, the creak of my door drew my eyes to the clock. Quarter past one. She'll probably opt out of eating now, lest she go face down in dinner. I made up a plate of Thai chicken salad for her, and it's in the fridge. She'll find it.
Sure enough, dinner will be breakfast instead. Her jeans drop to the floor like a rock, and I wonder if in her tired state she remembered to take the gun off first. One profanity later, I have my answer. I hear her place her gun and badge on the nightstand opposite me. And as usual, a moment later, she crashes on the mattress, back turned to me. I wait a minute before I turn around and move closer to her. I drape the sheets over her exhausted body. My arms snake around her and she presses closer to me, sighing. I can smell the day on her.
I kiss her back softly, tasting a minute trace of her toil. My eyes are growing heavy again, and I don't need to ask to know she's drifting off too. Only one thing left to do now.
"Goodnight Liv, I love you."
"Mhmmmgoodnight Casey, I love you too." I kiss her one last time before consciousness leaves me.
