It's been a horrible day, of rapists and monsters I couldn't catch, and I know that I won't be able to sleep tonight.
I get home exhausted, and Alex is waiting for me. She pokes her head out of the kitchen, and she's wearing my old apron, her hair pulled up into a messy bun, her sleeves rolled up past her elbows. God, she's gorgeous even when she's trying to look casual.
Alex kisses me, passionate and calming at the same time, and then she pulls away and smiles shyly, wiping her hands with a paper towel. "Dinner in ten?" I nod, answering silently because I can't push the words past my lips, and she cocks her head in concern. "How was your day?"
I sigh and kiss her again, melting as I feel her tongue in my mouth, and she's just an extension of me now, and I of her. "Better now."
While Alex was in Witness Protection, I got into the habit of jogging in the mornings. It helped me, to wake up and have something to look to, instead of worrying about what I'd lost, or specifically, who wasn't there beside me. We're in the middle of a tough case and on Tuesday, I wake up at five in the morning, my legs just aching for the friction that running creates.
I place a gentle kiss on Alex's forehead before carefully extricating myself from her embrace. I climb out of bed and throw on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, then jot Alex a note and leave it on the kitchen table, so she won't worry if she wakes up and finds me gone.
The second I get outside, I start to run, my feet pounding the sidewalk as I lope toward the park. Ah, Central Park at five in the morning. It's beautiful. The mist is just settling over the trees and it's almost quiet, save for the pattering of sneakers on gravel and the barking of a few dogs as they jog alongside their owners.
Running gives me a surge of the adrenaline I crave, the adrenaline that pumps every time I slam handcuffs on a perp, every time my lips and Alex's form a bridge, irreversibly connecting us.
I check my watch. It's ten to seven, and I should probably be getting home soon. I turn around and jog back to my apartment.
I mount the stairs instead of taking the elevator, rejuvenated after my run, rather than exhausted. It feels good to be running again.
I unlock the door and go inside, and then I'm astonished to find Alex curled up on the living room couch, her head buried in her knees. Her shoulders are shaking and she's crying.
I go to her and wrap my arms around her. "Baby, what's wrong?"
She looks up, tears brimming in her baby blues. She tries to smile but it comes out as a grimace. "I thought – it doesn't matter."
I brush a few strands of stray blonde hair behind her ear. "What did you think?"
She lowers her eyes. "I thought you left me."
I'm momentarily stunned. "I would never leave you," I assure her, wondering where this is coming from. "Why would you think that?"
"I woke up and you were gone."
"I left you a note."
She unfolds her hand and shows me the crumpled piece of paper. In my half-asleep state, the only legible thing on the page was I love you. Nothing more.
"I'm sorry, Alex," I whisper, kissing her forehead. "I went out for a jog. I'm sorry if I scared you."
She nods, a bit sheepishly. "Yeah." It's all that's left to say
I've spent the last eight hours drifting in and out of consciousness, but Alex is always there when I wake up, smoothing my hair back from my clammy forehead, holding a bowl of broth to my lips and urging me to take a sip.
"How is it that you never get sick?" I ask, because I'm exhausted and I'm wondering, but she doesn't answer, and I wonder whether or not I even said the words aloud.
"Open up," she prompts, holding out the thermometer and sticking it in my mouth when I comply. Her hands are so gentle, working magic on my sweaty skin as she caresses my cheek. She kisses my forehead, then my neck, and I want to tell her to stop because I don't want her to get sick too, just in case, but I can't find the words.
We're at the park, our fingers intertwined, when a clap of thunder screams from the sky and suddenly, buckets of rain pour down on the two of us.
Alex pouts as the water soaks her hair, turning light blonde tresses a deep gold, and her shirt clings to her like a second skin. God, I just want to kiss her, but getting out of the rain comes first. "The weather guy said it was going to be sunny. All day."
"Well, that should be clue number one to expect rain," I tell her, laughing as we run toward the nearest restaurant, darting inside for cover.
Sometimes Alex is so beautiful that it physically hurts to look at her. When we're lying in bed at night, and she's curled up on her side, her head resting on her hands, her blonde hair splayed out on her pillow, she looks so innocent. Like a child.
Like an angel.
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