He knows he's staring, that he has a slack-jawed stupid look on his face and he doesn't care. She resigned? As in resigned resigned? No more Detective Beckett? God, why is he being like this? So what? It wasn't the detective he fell in love with, it was the woman behind that wall that was Detective Beckett. Say something, idiot. She blinks like tears might be forming in her eyes and glances down to the phone she left on the counter. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He blinks, coming out of his stupor and his hands grip hers still on his shoulders. She turns worried eyes to him and he let's a breath out through his nose. What else did she say, Rick? She only wants you. Find the words. Speak.

"When?" Shit, really?

Her eyes flick to his mouth and she huffs a breath through her nose like she's laughing at him for that being all he could come up with to say.

"Yesterday," her voice is shy, reserved.

He wants to know why, wants to know what she was thinking, what went through her head as she handed over her badge and gun and walked away from a life-long vendetta. He wants the story.

"I..." damn it, this can't be about you, Rick. "Okay."

Her eyes find his and she has that look on her face that she gets when he says something that might half make sense, but is still insane in her mind. Her eyes look away from him, shift to stare at something far off behind him and he see the annoyed tug of her lips. Shit, shit. No. He didn't mean it that way.

"I'm not ... I didn't mean ..." he sighs, licks his lips that have suddenly gone dry. "Kate. If that is what you want, then I will be here. If you want to paint or write or sell knives, whatever you want, I'm here. It's not about the books anymore. Hasn't been ..."

She smirks when he says sell knives. Her eyes soften. He won't ask. He can't. She wants a normal morning after and she's going to get it. He picks up their coffee mug and takes a sip, blanches when he finds it cold. He turns away to pour a fresh, warm cup, gather his thoughts, keep his foot out of his mouth. When he turns back her hand is covering her mouth and her eyes are boring a hole into the back of her phone. He walks back over to her, takes the hand laying idle in her lap and presses the warm mug into it. Her eyes flick to the coffee and she smiles.

"Thanks ..." she looks up at him, her eyes sad in the warm light of his kitchen. She sips at the coffee and he can see her muscles relax, let the tension of the interruption go. She resigned. His hands settle on either side of her, thumbs stroking idly at the exposed skin of her thighs. He sees it in her eyes first, the dark embers coming to the surface. A smile pulls at the corners of her lips, but she won't set it free. He slips his thumbs under the hem of the shirt she wears, his shirt, and she sucks in a sharp breath. Mm. Two can play this game.

He glances down and grabs another pancake off the plate next to her. He hears the coffee mug hit the counter and before he can turn back to her, her hands are on him, one wrapped around his neck, one pulling roughly at his cheek to turn his head to her. His eyes meet hers, now only inches away. The hand from his cheek grabs at the collar of his t-shirt as she pulls herself closer to him with her heels digging into the cabinets, her body pressed as close to his as she possibly can. He sucks in his own breath when their bodies intimately connect and he presses his nose into hers. Her arms wrap around his neck, fingers running through his hair.

"Tease," she breathes against his lips before painting them with her own. He tries desperately to keep control, not give in to her when her tongue flirts with the seam of his mouth, not lose all hope when that little moan he learned drives him crazy comes from her. She nips at his upper lip and that does it, he's lost in her. His hand snakes under her shirt and grips her thigh causing what he can only define as a squeak to come from her. Their tongues meet as he wraps his fingers around her neck, thumb at her jaw to angel her head where he wants it. Oh, he is so gone. She crosses her ankles behind him and squeezes with her knees making him gasp and pull away from her. She's panting when he looks at her, her hair wild and eyes burning, lips red from his.

Her hands slip down to his ears, fingers stroking as she smiles at him and bites at her lip. His hand stills high on her thigh, close to her hip. He would love round two, but his kid will be home soon and she wants this to be theirs. Like a cold shower, his arousal fades to a burning ember. It's fine, it is. He gets it. Keep it from everyone else so there aren't twenty questions every time they see them, no prying eyes picking up every little detail so they can be whispered about in the break room. Shit. No break room. But a part of him wants to run through the streets shouting it for the masses, tell everyone that she is finally his and he's not letting go. He has to let go. His kid will be home soon.

He sighs and rests his forehead on hers, closes his eyes.

"Kate-"

"Don't," she interrupts him, still a little breathless. "I ..."

"Kate, Alexis will be home soon and ... if you ... if we want to keep this between us ..."

She pulls her head away from his and smiles up at him. My God is he cute when he can't find the words. Her heels knock the cabinet as her knees slip down his sides, settle at his thighs. She picks up her coffee mug and pulls it between them, takes a sip. He looks like he would squirm we're he not so close to her, like he's worried he put his foot in his mouth again.

"Guess we better finish our breakfast then."