okay so yes, i'm several weeks late with this. i was busy, sue me. i promise you'll enjoy it just as much as you would've if i'd written it immediately after the episode came out like i meant to.

i love these two and i also want them to be my dads and happy forever. long may they reign

finally, the american-english spellchecker can choke and die

Kevin just wanted two hours in the library for research purposes. All he asked was for some (relative, considering Jake's ... everything ... ) peace and quiet, and some entertainment that didn't involve Nicolas Cage or unrealistically massive explosions. He could feel his sanity slowly ebbing as the days wore on, assisted readily by Jake's constant presence and anyone else's lack thereof.

It isn't that he dislikes Jake—in the last months, Kevin's come to realise that the detective genuinely does have layers—but being shoved into the hellish hole the NYPD deemed a "safe house" with him for weeks on end is, quite frankly, unbelievably torturous. Not quite as torturous as standing on the sidewalk watching his husband be held at gunpoint on a bus that's quickly speeding away from him and Peralta, but torturous nonetheless.

Kevin had never been so relieved as on the day Raymond was given his own command. Though he could not have possibly been prouder of his husband for the promotion that has been much too long in coming, there was a feeling of relief that could not have been ignored settling itself comfortably in the centre of Kevin's chest thanks to the knowledge that Raymond would spend significantly less time being shot at by classless thugs and more time safely at his desk, doing paperwork.

Kevin curses his own naiveté as he watches the bus shrink into the horizon, carrying the love of his life and some gunman likely with little impulse control and a full clip. He had his suspicions even before the whole Florida witness protection tomfoolery occurred, but watching the back of the bus disappear into the distance confirms his worst fear: Raymond will never be completely out of mortal danger so long as he remains in his chosen profession, regardless of the rank he holds.

(If his husband were here, he'd likely tell him not to worry and that the criminals will soon be "bus"ted, Kevin thinks, a little hysterically. He then imagines Raymond never getting the chance to make a hilarious pun ever again and feels a familiar anxiety rise high in his throat.)

They reach the warehouse. Peralta tells him to go home.

As if!

(Kevin cringes despite not saying anything aloud. Peralta's nonstop use of uncouth catchphrases is infectious.)

Peralta, for lack of a better word, skedaddles after that. Kevin, shocked by how easy it is to deceive him, briefly ponders if that reflects more poorly on Jake's abilities as a police officer or on the state of his marriage that he would be thought to abandon his husband so readily.

Kevin briefly considers simply trying to sneak into the warehouse, but he's neither trained for or brave enough for that. He blames Peralta's movie collection for the dramatic car crash entrance, and his own love of deflection for using a witty one-liner in what was otherwise a potentially lifethreatening situation.

The knot in his stomach doesn't unravel after he throat-punches Seamus Murphy (which, for the record, is immensely satisfying), nor when the men are handcuffed and taken away. It lingers until he and his husband are safely home, laying side by side in their bed, hands clasped tightly. Kevin wishes he could feel some sort of elation at being home again, but his traitorous mind has decided against it. Not even Cheddar's cheerfully demanding presence, nor his insistence at being petted from the time they'd arrived home until bedtime, can put an end to Kevin's whirling thoughts (though it is nice to be the corgi's favourite for once).

Generally, silence is a pleasurable thing in his marriage. Neither Raymond nor himself are men who enjoy talking simply to fill the air, and this works quite well for them on most occasions. Many a night has been spent in companionable silence, the mere sensation of one's presence more than enough to put the other at ease.

This is not one of those nights.

"I wanted to apologise," Raymond says suddenly, as if reading his mind. "I feel ... awful, about the way I've behaved in the recent weeks. I let my fear for your safety cloud my better judgement. I used it to justify making decisions that hurt you, and for that I am truly sorry."

Kevin turns onto his side. It's difficult to see his husband's expression in the dark, though he can tell that Raymond's eyes are closed. He seems pensive.

"I wanted to apologise as well," Kevin admits. "Leaving the safe house without a proper guard was a terrible idea. I should have respected your expertise on the matter."

Kevin hears more than sees Raymond shake his head against the sheets. "No, you were right. I shouldn't have expected you to go months without leaving the safe house. It was my fault—"

"It wasn't wrong of you to want to keep me safe," Kevin interrupts quickly, unwilling to hear the end of his husband's sentence. "It was my recklessness that put you in danger. I don't know what I would have done if ... if things hadn't gone as well as they did." The words hang in the air awkwardly, taking up the space between them. Kevin wants nothing more than to close the distance, to leave no gaps for any terrifying "what if"s, but he feels rooted in place, an uneasy pit in his stomach.

Raymond shifts, turns and leans on his elbow to face his husband. "Kevin," he says gently. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Of course I do!" Kevin snaps disbelievingly, glaring. Raymond blinks and draws back slightly, clearly startled. "I'm sorry," Kevin says, taking a moment to settle himself. "But I resent the idea that I shouldn't be worrying about you when you've chosen a profession where you're regularly involved in life-or-death situations. Situations that you seem to willingly seek out, I might add. One would think you'd understand my stance on the matter more clearly, now that you've spent a few weeks fretting constantly over my safety."

"One would, yes," Raymond muses. "I suppose you have a point. I certainly have a more thorough understanding of your concern for me while I'm out in the field, having now experienced a similar reversed scenario." He pauses, thoughtfully. Raymond's pauses are always thoughtful (when they're not for comedic effect). It's one of the things Kevin loves most about him. "Quite frankly, it was terrifying."

"I'm aware of the feeling," Kevin murmurs. "Although I'm not sure if I enjoy being on the other end of the stick either, so to speak."

Raymond smiles suddenly, lighting up the room despite the near-total darkness. "That's understandable. Though, your attack on Seamus Murphy and his goon was quite commendable. Have I mentioned yet how magnificent you were today?"

Kevin feels his face warm. "Perhaps once or twice."

"Allow me to mention it again, then. You were magnificent today," Raymond says sincerely, reaching out to caress his husband's cheek. "You were extraordinarily brave and clever, and I'm unsure of how best to express the extent of my admiration for your actions today."

Though certain he's begun to turn the same shade as the roses he tends so carefully, Kevin keeps his voice steady. "I can think of a few ways," he says, and leans in.

The kiss is soft and sweet, and everything Kevin's missed about his husband in the trying recent weeks. They've never been a particularly tactile couple, but the combined lack of privacy and lack of Raymond have chafed at Kevin's sense of sanity, and having both returned to him in one fell swoop is a gift he wants to celebrate.

And celebrate they do.

They fall asleep in one another's arms, content, trading soft kisses and words until they drift off to sleep, the day's events momentarily forgotten.

Kevin wakes to Raymond carefully disentangling himself from him. He attempts to ask what his husband thinks he's doing, but all that comes out is a childish noise of protest. Raymond gives him a gentle kiss on the forehead and softly tells him to go back to sleep, that he'll be right back.

Kevin grumbles a bit and briefly considers not letting the love of his life out of his sight for another second until one or both of them stops breathing, but he's already plunging back into a dreamy haze by the time the thought's halfway through his head.

Sometime later, Kevin blinks awake to the smell of something cooking. Sleepily, contentedly, he smiles and rolls over, dozing without really sleeping. It feels like mere seconds later when Raymond reappears, a large tray of food in his arms.

"I forgive you, you know, you don't have to prove yourself to me. Quite honestly, I would consider us "even", in terms of transgressions," Kevin says as the tray is set down in front of him. Eggs, toast, and ... "Is this a croque-monsieur?" Horrifyingly, he's lapsed into rhetorical questions now and doesn't even have the presence of mind to be ashamed of himself.

"Yes. Detective Boyle showed me how to make one some time ago," Raymond answers simply. He's positively glowing.

Kevin takes a delicate bite of the sandwich and nearly moans. "I love you," he says, then looks up. "I also love you, Raymond."

He earns a laugh for that, and as his husband settles beside him on the bed and turns on the television, Kevin feels a bit of metaphorical weight lift from his shoulders. They're fine, as they always are. In sync. Jake would probably make a joke about the boy band, but Kevin is significantly more refined and not even spending over a thousand hours straight with that man(child) will change that. Kevin realises, in some dark corner of his mind, that he is so used to Jake's presence that he thinks about him more often than a married man should. It's disgusting and he hates himself for it a little. He forcibly turns his attention back to the television.

Planet Earth is on, and the two of them eat in relative quiet for a while, listening to the narrator describe the beautiful natural flora and fauna of the Amazon Rainforest. It's perfect. Kevin pauses. Almost perfect.

"I need to apologise for something," he bursts out. "I should never have implied I wanted a divorce. It was petty and childish, and I said it out of anger and frustration at the situation, not out of any real desire to ... have one," he says quietly. "You are the love of my life and I have no want of anything—or anyone—else."

Raymond swallows carefully. "I know. I don't blame you for being angry with me. I rather deserved it, though I agree you went too far." Slowly, he twines the fingers of his right hand with the ones on Kevin's left. "I forgive you."

Kevin smiles. "Thank you."

"I love you."

"I know." Kevin says, instinctively. Then, a pause. "My apologies. I love you too. It's going to take some time for me to learn to refrain from making references to popular culture."

He hears more than sees Raymond's smile. "I understand. For the record, I find your pop culture references incredibly endearing."

"That's very sweet of you."

Raymond leans and gently kisses his temple, and Kevin's world balances neatly on its axis again.

They watch the rest of Planet Earth in comfortable, companionable silence. (Until Cheddar gets hungry, that is.)