This happened. It'll be a one shot, as I have spontaneous, original ideas to expand on at the moment, but this is how it started from Harm's POV. Enjoy!
It hasn't been a conscious thought. He's at a point where he can blindly find his way through the organic grocery store two blocks from the apartment, so it takes no time at all to get everything for dinner. He reaches for her favorite cookies and the hazelnut coffee syrup she loves so much, and he's on his way again.
It's not until he closes the apartment door behind him, groceries in one hand, briefcase in the other, keys dangling from his fingers, that he realizes he's driven the car to Georgetown instead of Union Station.
Autopilot. He's been operating on autopilot and he panics. They haven't discussed him being here tonight. What if she made plans?
It's been a complicated case -one they've finally closed this afternoon- and they're spending more time with than without each other. He has trouble relaxing when she's not there.
The staying over thing has just happened: they've been working non-stop on this, at one point he's just told her to stay over and vice versa.
The first night they shared an actual bed, he felt hesitant and awkward for about as long as it took her to slide in next to him, turn down the lights and wish him goodnight. For the insomniac she is, her breathing evened out pretty quickly.
His shaving kit followed him around for exactly one week, before he got fed up with repacking it every morning, so now her bathroom has a duplicate. They relocated to her apartment after a trip out West for interviews and he just hasn't left.
She decided waiting for him to finish in the bathroom was too much of an effort on night five, so now they're circling each other and share the space. He's sure the woman knows more about him than all his previous girlfriends combined.
Two nights ago, he'd been shifting in his chair a bit too much, trying to get comfortable, while throwing around arguments for their closing. She made him a heat pack, rubbed his back with tiger balm and basically ordered him to bed early. She knows when he has a headache he can't shake, when he's overtired, when he's getting grumpy because his gut is telling him something's off but he can't pinpoint it.
It's been four and a half weeks now. Four weeks in which they've built… something. He doesn't dare question it because he knows that as soon as they start talking, they'll find ways to screw it up, and he doesn't want to do that. Anything but that. He likes this quiet calm. It's soothing, in a way.
The shower isn't running, which means she's either getting dressed or somewhere in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath before opening his mouth. "Mac?"
She shows up in the bedroom door, dressed in her favorite sweats, squeezing the last drops of water out of her hair. "Hey. I was wondering what was keeping you."
The knot in his stomach loosens. There's no question as to why he's here. She doesn't even seem surprised, which he takes at face value. He might be able to pull rabbits out of his hat in a courtroom, being a lawyer and thinking on his feet takes work and effort and there are days he doesn't want to think. Today being one of them.
"Hi."
She smiles. "Cooking or ordering?"
His shoulders relax as he lowers his briefcase next to the door. "Cooking."
It's one of his favorite ways to decompress after a day like today, and the way to that woman's heart is through her stomach.
She throws the towel over her shoulder, taking the bag with groceries out of his hands. "Go change. I'll put the groceries away. What are we making?"
"Roast potatoes, salad, steak for you and salmon for me."
Her eyes light up. "You're making me steak?"
"Well, you know… Anything for you."
Her smile is radiant as she gives his hand a squeeze. He joins her in the kitchen not long after, changed into jeans and a T-shirt he's sure she'll steal at one point or another. Somehow, they tend to disappear to her pajama drawer after the laundry's been folded. He doesn't really care.
They fall into a rhythm: he preps and cooks, she sets the table. He feels the tension in his body ease, slowly, as she jokes about how he's forcing her to change her eating habits.
The way she digs into her steak with gusto brings a smile to his face. He's learned she appreciates the little things: the hazelnut coffee in her travel mug before they leave for work, the red meat he cooks for her once a week, the way he focuses his attention on her when she talks, the way he does a chore he knows she hates.
They've started to communicate again, instead of second guessing. The riddles and half truths have made way for honesty and straightforwardness. It's refreshing, being able to tell someone -her, specifically-, exactly what he's thinking and feeling without being judged for it.
They clear the table and do the dishes, quietly talking about this and that. He puts their newly compromised version of coffee on and when he reaches for a case file, sitting at the dining table, she shakes her head and tilts it to the couch.
He raises an eyebrow in question. Rolling her eyes, she runs a hand through his hair. "I think you've done enough work for today. There will be plenty of paperwork tomorrow to finish all we've done. We deserve a night off. Go relax, I'll bring coffee."
He closes his eyes, reveling in her soothing touch, and nods. Perhaps she's right. They've been working non-stop for a few weeks; he just hasn't stopped to think about it. Now that she mentions it, he's actually exhausted.
"Movie?"
"If you want." She presses a kiss to the top of his head and steps back. "I'll even let you pick it. Go."
He watched the opening credits, slowly sipping coffee, his feet propped up on the coffee table. She pulls her feet up, snuggles into his side, contentment on her face. It dawns on him why he steered the car in this direction. This is home.
For everything they've been through, every bump in the road they've had, every obstacle they had to overcome, she still makes his dispassionate plans. She makes sure he doesn't completely derail himself trying to get to the bottom of things, finding the truth.
She looks after him the same way he looks after her. Makes sure he doesn't overdo it. Doesn't run himself into the ground, trying to get something done. Trying to live up to everybody's expectations; especially his own.
For all the things they were never really able to express to each other, having lived with her for a few weeks now, it has changed things between them. He doesn't want to go back to the way it was before.
"By the way, the faucet in the bathroom is dripping again."
He smiles, pulling her a little closer. "I think we'll have to shop for a new one, then. All my fixes seem to be temporary instead of permanent."
"We'll go after grocery shopping Saturday," she decides.
Nodding, he focuses back on the screen. He could get used to this. Maybe it's time he just let it happen.