I push the door open with a weary shoulder and it scuffs against the floor, shuddering a little.
Another set of shuffling footsteps follows mine. David's.
A week's worth of adrenaline and caffeine-fueled stake-outs, pursuits, and double-crosses and we've finally caught a break. Sleep is now a temptation we can afford. The question is...have we pushed past the point of exhaustion for too long?
Like a synchronized dance, we move together into the loft.
"We should probably..." he starts but it's a halfhearted effort at best.
"Nope, not doing stairs. Bed's too far," I mumble. He agrees with a hum.
Couch it is. We sink into the cushions, sighing in unison and my body instantly feels as limp as a rag doll's. My head lolls to his shoulder while I toe off the heel of my shoe. So glad I choose slip-ons instead of my boots. The right one follows and I stretch both legs out to cross at the ankles on the coffee table.
"Snow will throw a fit." Oh, that's right. Mary Margaret- Mom- has a thing with feet on the furniture.
Too bad. I can't muster up enough energy to worry about a potential scolding. "Tough. Too tired to care."
I know I sound like a grouchy kid but I don't regret the whine in my voice when David chuckles lightly. He just got a taste of cranky toddler Emma. Maybe there are some little girl moments I can still give him.
The gentle, reassuring sound is swallowed suddenly as his chest rises in a yawn. I scuttle closer, the chain reaction causing one from me as well.
A flannel-covered arm winds around my shoulders. He smells like forest, sunshine, and cinnamon.
My lids start to close but I startle slightly when the wooden table under my feet shakes. David's sock-covered soles have joined mine.
I snort. She's going to kill us. David's breath evens out, giving me the impression he's nodded off.
"Emma?" His voice is lazy with the pull of sleep.
"Yah Dad?"
I sense his smile. "Don't tell your mother."