Her words are still echoing in my head. I've never noticed what she called the "double standard" in the Department. I thought it all died, years ago. But, then again, I've never been in her shoes. A woman, in a man's world, looking for acceptance. Fighting to prove herself as an equal.
I know the whole Department is a brotherhood. All of the guys are like brothers. That's why it's so hard to investigate, when you think a cop's committed a crime, because they all protect him. They'll lie for him. Some have even gone as far as to commit perjury on the stand to protect a partner or a friend.
She's right, in a way. If our little secret gets leaked, it won't hurt me. It'll hurt her. The guys are like brothers, but the women are left on the outside. They won't protect her like they would a brother.
She's asleep beside me, the covers wrapped tightly around her body. The first time I watched her sleeping, I wondered what I'd done to hurt her. She sleeps curled up in a ball, her knees tucked up to her stomach, her arms close to her chest. I always get the impression that she's been hurt, when I see her asleep. I just can't shake it.
I know she's carrying a lot of pain around, but like any other human being, when she's sleeping beside me like that, I can't help but get the feeling that it was something I did.
She murmurs, incoherently and tugs the covers off me, shifting herself. I've learned that I fell in love with a blanket hog. I've pointed this out to her and she's retorted that it's not her fault. She's not used to sharing a bed with another person. I gently pull back, so I don't freeze. It won't wake her.
She mumbles something and kicks the covers off. I blink, seeing what she's sleeping in, in the darkness. It's not her usual tank top and sweats that have been around since God-knows-when. It's a dark t-shirt that's huge on her slim body, the bottom hem coming to her knee, with the sleeves falling past her elbow.
I've never seen that before. Maybe she swiped it from an old boyfriend. I don't think she'd go as far as stealing my clothes yet. But I did leave a couple of changes of clothes here, just in case. And she knows where I left them.
I can't help but smile. I don't know what it is with women and stealing clothes from the men in their lives, but they all seem to do it.
I get this feeling, watching her sleep, wearing my shirt. The detective in me wants to pin it down and give it a name so I know what the hell it is. But I don't know what I'm feeling. It's a mix of things, right now.
She looks so peaceful and so calm, when she's asleep. With her eyes closed, she looks years younger. Softer, somehow. Without that hardened look in her eyes, I can imagine what she looked like as a little girl. I've never seen pictures, but I can guess.
I can hazard a guess as to why I've never seen pictures of her as a child. With her mother's drinking problem, there probably aren't that many photos of her, growing up. And her childhood is something she doesn't like to talk about. So if there are any pictures, she doesn't want to look at them.
Somehow, after a while, I do doze off without even noticing it.
When I wake up again, it's early in the morning. The sun's beginning to peek through the thick grey fog, turning the sky pink and orange. The pale light's falling through her window and across the floor, cascading over her sleeping form. Her hair, which she's begun to let grow again, is falling over one pale cheek. She's still asleep.
Her alarm clock blares, startling me and waking her. Olivia groans and slaps the snooze, stretching.
"Morning."
"Mm." She grumbles, rubbing her eyes.
"Hey, Liv, is that my shirt?"
Her cheeks turn a pale pink. "Yeah." She admits, grinning, shyly.
"Why do you want my shirt, hm?"
She shakes her head. "I don't know. I just like to sleep in it."
I smile, kissing her on the forehead. There's something about that that gets to me. Her sleeping in my shirt. It's just cute. She rubs her face and slides out of bed, getting her bathrobe from the back of the door. "You want the shower first? It doesn't matter."
"You go." I wave a hand at her.
I get up, heading for her kitchen. We don't have the time to eat a big, full breakfast on a workday - we make up for it at lunch. I turn her coffee pot on and stick two pieces of bread into the toaster.
The first morning we were together, I expected her to spend hours in the bathroom, getting ready, changing her outfit a half a dozen times, like my daughters. But now I know it doesn't take her long. She showers, grabs whatever's clean and spends about ten minutes on her hair and makeup. It's amazing to me that she just grabs whatever clothes are clean and she still looks great.
She emerges, dressed in one of her tight button-down blouses and a pair of dark pants. I think she wears those blouses purposely to drive me crazy. She brushes her hair back and takes her slice of toast from me, as I head for the shower.
The mirror in the bathroom is still fogged by steam. She has this thing about hot showers. She loves them. I get a clean towel and start the water again, careful to adjust the temperature to something bearable.
I quickly shave and dress, and emerge, to find her waiting for me. It seems like we've settled into a pattern, now, she and I. We know each other so well that this just feels right. She's even admitted that, in between worrying about her career. Our professional and personal lives mixing just feels right.
She tosses me the keys to her car, out of habit. I usually drive. It's just a pattern we've settled into, over the years. "You wanna drive?" I question, holding her keys out to her.
Olivia stares at me, for a second, as if startled to hear me ask. She nods and takes them, heading for the driver's side.
She manages to avoid all the areas where traffic usually backs up, in the mornings. The routes that most people take to work. I think she must have been a cab driver in some past life, because she knows all of the side and cross streets, to keep us out of traffic. We do actually make it to work on time.
"Did you hack a cab or something before you were a cop?" I question, as she slams the door closed.
Olivia grins at me and shakes her head. "Nah. You're forgetting - I grew up in that neighborhood. I know my way around. And when I got my first car, when I didn't want to go home, I'd drive around the neighborhood for a while."
"So I'm gonna let you drive in the mornings, now, huh?" I lean in and kiss her, softly. I have to wait until the end of the day before I can touch her again.
"Yeah. Come on. Maybe Munch didn't make the coffee this morning."
"Don't get your hopes up, Liv." I comment, following her inside.
(A/n: I know it's short. It's easier for me to write short chapters, right now. I can't pack to go away, get ready for my prom and write at the same time, so bear with me till school's out, please? I feel like I'm cheating you awesome readers, but I really can't do three things at once.)